Here We Go Again - Chapter 100 - Mable Bar Day 2

Only a day on the ground in Marble Bar and there is so much to see and do. First though there is a meeting with our web designers.

That meeting done its time to call the matriarch of the Banks side of the family. My Aunty Elva is 90 years old today. Calls to her can be quite lengthy so I settle into the deck chair under the awning outside the van and make the call. 

Aunty Elva is the last survivor of her generation on that side of the family. She married my Uncle Karl (my fathers brother) whilst both were in the Salvation Army where they spent their entire working lives. Her passion for her beliefs and the children she has roll modelled for, are the subject of many a call. But more than that she is a proud grandmother of not just her own children’s children but also of many she has taken in over the years, me being one of them. I spent several years living with them in my early professional journey in Sydney, away from the farm life of Rye Park.

My call catches her already dealing with party preparations. The family are arriving, some are there already and she is lapping up the attention. At 90 she still drives, although legally blind in one eye and still “rules the roost” in the retirement village she presently resides. She wants to get back to the preparations but still ensures she gives me her most precious gift – her time – to thank me for the call and remembering the special day. I wish her and tose already present a great day and return to what might be our adventure today.

First we need to call in on Stephen Michael’s footy clinic at the school. Robyn purchased the signed memorabilia for $250 last night, but they did not have Eftpos available so we needed to cath up with cash this morning to pay for the ball. 

We add an extra $50 as a further donation. A small  gesture but we felt we could help in some small way.

The kids are running rampant, in a game umpired by Stephen and monitored by members of his team. Praise is handed out to all and sundry as they attempt to join in where they can. At each stoppage those who may not have had a chance to engage fully around more proficient players are turned into ruckmen for a ball up or given a free kick. Its an all inclusive game, played at breakneck speed in the already searing heat.

Nothing slows them until the whistle blows. Stephen seems indefatigable as well, keeping up at this pace, talking to the children as they run by about finer points of the skills they require, marvelling at some of the skills on display. One not so Indigneous (and slightly over weight) kid and dressed in full footy paraphernalia, walks to the sideline and asks of the teacher we met last night “what do I do”. The answer – have fun, chase the ball and kick it. He runs back excitedly and attempts to keep up. The ball falls his way a few times but he does not get a “possession” until a spurious free kick is awarded and he gives the ball his best kick and the game continues.

Time for a break, the siren sounds and everyone is sent to the sidelines for ice blocks and water. Stephen walks over to us and beings to talk as if the conversation in the pub last night had not been broken by a good nights sleep. 

He is not a young man but the youth around him keep him going. He talks about the skills that have been on display, because for him its all about them. Giving them something to strive for and not fall into some sort of rut, local town life might bring, He points out a local “grandmother” in the melee of people distributing the drinks. He has discerned she is the focal point for the kids in the town. She is the one he needs to keep motivated to be the “mother” of them all, not that she needs much. She is what she is, and as parents set about making a living in the present day and age, she is their rock and he acknowledges that. 

For it is people like her that talk to people like him after the “others” get him to arrive, that make days like this even more successful. He leads them to the water but making them not only drink like they are now but continue to drink requires local enthusiasm.

Watching the kids run around is tiring. Time for us to head out and investigate the surrounds.

Silver Leader takes us to the Comet Mine Museum. Entry fee is a gold coin donation. As we walk in the door we are ushered to seats on the back verandah and for the next half an hour or so Gerard the curator, a man well past “retirement age”, talks of the heyday of the mine. There is gold remaining in them there hills, but the cost to retrieve it is more than the value. He discusses that the adjacent hill is basically hollow. A small hole, the mine opening observable from where we sit, is all you can see from the outside. He also talks of the engineering issues with further miming that may collapse it on any workers.

After the talk we spend time wandering the exhibits inside while Gerard takes the next accumulation of visitors out to the verandah. Inside and out, there are lots to see here as a testament to the gold diggers.

Not far away is the Flying Fox Lookout. In the wet season this contraption is the only way to get provisions to a water locked Marble Bar. It is getting towards the end of the dry season here but the view down the river is “lush” green. It may not be “grass” as we might have in our backyards but the spinifex has a hue contrasting the time of the season. We do a couple of videos and send to the family.

Getting peckish, we suggest Chinamans Pool we visited yesterday as a place for lunch. Here the area is empty, unlike yesterday when the restorative power of the shade and the water were well in use. I break out the travel rug and use it as a table cloth and the food is laid out. 

Its a pleasant place to eat. The outlook across the river, the green grass and the water add ambience of the bush setting as we eat in the heat of the day. The breeze becomes more of an issue as the weight of the food moves from the table to the chairs (and inside our bodies).

Lunch done the one thing absolutely required is to find the “Secret” WWII airfield. So secret was this installation that the Japanese bombed Onslow in error as they tried to locate it in the war. Its quite a drive to the site along a gravel road. 

There are no buildings, but there are signs, essential or I am sure we would have gotten lost. The flat land hiding its bounty. From the air it may have been much easier with the large runways scarring through the mulga but for us on the ground, unless you drive over it, it is very difficult find.

Now we have found the runways, we look to drive the length of them. Taxiways off to the side can easily turn you around as you wander from runway to runway, past gun emplacements or hangar areas. Hiding this in the war was remarkable. 

The dust is taken away by the breeze. On a windless day I suspect the pall of dust would hang around this place like a cloud and if the amount of dust we are creating by simply during along a runway at 60kph, what would a Beaufighter or a squadron of B29 have created.

Maintaining the secrecy of the site seems amazing, but then again we are a long way from the coast in the middle of “nowhere”.

The journey along the gravel road, creating dust, enjoying the vagaries of the dust is a joy. The road is well kept, like many of the thoroughfares out here, the corrugations are at a minimum and do not give the driving any great concern.

We have done so much today. So much that a nanna nap is required. 

There is a large reservoir behind the van park and a look out. The signs suggest it is a 4WD opportunity. Robyn is not enamoured with signs like that, especially when another suggests low 4WD and low gear are required.

The signs are very conservative. Whilst there are some areas of roughness, most of the road to the top of the hill is easily traversed. The destination in this case is well worth the journey as the vista that opens up as we get to the top is breathtaking.

Marble Bar, the hottest place in the country is actually in a volcano crater. The land is not flat as you might expect and the hills around the town and the tributaries breaking traffic out in different directions, some with dust palls flowing behind as vehicles heading along gravel roads. Road trains and other vehicles arriving and escaping into the distance.

Watching the sunset from here, shooting panoramas and other shots, you get a bit of an idea about the vastness of the Pilbara.

Back down the hill and off to the pub for dinner. The football clinic team are there.

Stephen Michael acknowledges us as we enter the pub but we leave him to his “entertaining” of the others. Particularly he is deep in conversation with locals about continuing the passion he has now created being taken forward by them. This town, like any other where the Foundation “circus” has landed, needs to get behind the initiatives his Foundation may have started today.

Nothing happens if we rely on others to provide everything we want. It takes commitment and hard work but the potential results, a child not lost to the vagaries of the darker side of life, are enormous in my view.