25 and 26 July – More Broken Hill and Menindee

25 July – Exhausting Broken Hill’s attractions

Broken Hill’s streets are arranged in a grid which makes navigation reasonably straightforward. Many of them are named after anions (I remember this from my chemistry; there are cations and anions. Chemicals have names like Barium Oxide (Ba) where Barium is the cation and oxygen the anion). Anyway, if you’re still awake there are streets called Bromide, Chloride and Iodide as well as cations such as Wolfram (Tungsten). The central street (so far as we can make it out) is Argent Street in recognition, of course, of the silver. I had wanted to see a Permanganate Street because I well recall Potassium Permanganate as a purple crystal that you could buy from a chemist (as I did; I don’t suppose you could do so today). As I recollect you could mix it with sugar and it would explode. Naturally, we tried this but (probably, mercifully) failed.

A street corner in Broken Hill, a busy little town.

I was arrested by this plaque on the wall between two shops. I found Capt Blackburn (1892-1960) in Wikipedia and the Australian National Dictionary of Biography but I can find no link to Broken Hill.

We went first to the Synagogue of the Outback Museum. I wasn’t surprised that there had been a flourishing Jewish community in Broken Hill (as there would be anywhere). Keen and knowledgeable readers will know that I am technically a Jew so I have a bit of a connection to all this stuff. The Synagogue of the Outback Museum wasn’t especially Jewish although we looked around the old synagogue and there were a number of Jewish artefacts. I was surprised to learn that, outside of the capital cities in Australia, there are but three synagogues.

The synagogue itself was built in 1910, the year before the Baptist church in which we are staying. I rather think that the two places of worship were built to a pattern as they are very similar. There were 250 Jews in Broken Hill but changing times saw the synagogue close in 1962.

The museum houses an eclectic collection of material. At the back is an additional building with a collection of toy cars (Dinky cars and Matchbox cars for those, like me, who remember them) and a collection of Titanic memorabilia. While this was interesting, it was not altogether clear to me what this had to do with anything until I realised that the museum is run by the Broken Hill Historical Society and isn’t really connected with Judaism. Nonetheless, we spent an interesting hour or so there.

For some reason I was really taken by this picture. Look at the girl second from right in the back row. What a wonderful expression. I wonder what she was whispering to her friend. And what became of her?

There was also a collection of Titanic memorabilia. Quite why this was here I could not quite fathom. It seems that its collector, who I gathered is still alive and still collecting, had been determined that the museum should take and curate his collection. Whatever the reason it was interesting in the way that anything about the Titanic is interesting. I did notice that there is a memorial to the Titanic bandsmen in Broken Hill's Sturt Park. The link is tenuous but explicable. Broken Hill was heavily unionised because of its heavy industries. Unions have a connection with bands: most northern English industrial towns and villages had bands and the same was true in Australia. The townspeople were impressed with the courage of the ship's bandsmen and hence the memorial.

One always thinks that the Titanic was a massive enterprise. Certainly its propellors (left) were pretty massive but compared one of today's cruise ships (right) it's pretty tiny. 

This poem caught my eye. It was published in The Explosives Engineer. If explosives' engineering is your thing then there is a society you can join. On checking its website I see that the second edition of the Blasters' Handbook has made its way to your mobile device, at a cost I assume.

Silver City Mint and Art Centre:
a place to be missed

The G had determined that we should go to the Silver City Mint and Art Centre for there we would see something interesting. One of the things that we would (potentially) find interesting is the biggest painting, on canvas, in the world. We entered this emporium which turned out to be the biggest souvenir shop in the known universe. The trouble with souvenir shops is that they sell stuff you would only buy for someone else in order to inflict misery on them. In order to see the biggest painting, on canvas, in the world you need to pay money. We had had enough by them and didn’t think we would be overwhelmed by the biggest painting, on canvas, in the world. We gave it a miss.

Broken Hill has limited options for the general visitor and I thought that we were rapidly exhausting them. The G determined that we should go to the Tourist Information Centre to get their advice on what we might have missed. Their advice was in line with my own conclusion; we had pretty much done it. With that in mind, we took Luncheon at the Silly Goat Café where I enjoyed a slice of beetroot, walnut and blueberry bread. Laugh not, Gentle Reader, Laugh not. It was pretty good.

A somewhat skew-whiff view of the Broken Hill Tourist Information Centre, one of The G's favourite destinations in Broken Hill.

Although the Tourist Information Centre had run out of advice for us, we had seen North Mine on a map (a real, paper map) and decided to go. We were not disappointed. This mine appears to have operated from 1895 to 1988 when it closed presumably because it had run out of stuff to mine. I guess that's what will happen to the rest of Broken Hill. Another source, however, gives a different date. I find that "North Broken Hill Ltd was formed in 1895 and incorporated in 1912. The company mined silver, lead and zinc. In 1976 the company was restructured, becoming North Broken Hill Holdings Limited. In 1988 North Broken Hill Ltd took over Peko Wallsend Ltd and changed its name to North Broken Hill Peko Ltd.

North Mine: an industrial sculpture. Whatever the environmental consequences there is a certain majesty about a structure like this.

Hardwood is a fine material. This supporting column is presumably almost 150 years old.

The G adorning a row of tanks against a beautiful blue winter sky.

We decided, on a whim, that we would head toward Menindee to see what lay on the road there. We drove for about 20kms and saw little apart from an emu or two lurking in the bush. Speaking of emus, there is an interesting and amusing story that I should tell. I learned that In 1932, the farmers of Western Australia, fed up with the 20,000 emus that kept dropping in to their farms to eat all their crops, went to defence minister Sir George Pearce to demand he take action to safeguard the precious wheat of the Campion region.

Sir George Pearce KCVO (1870–1952). You can learn more about him from the Australian Dictionary of Biography. Interestingly, he was alive when I was born which perhaps shows how old I am. The emu episode is not mentioned in either Wikipedia or the Dictionary of Biography. In looking at the Dictionary of Biography, however, I formed a theory that his emu experiences may have derived from the Western Australian secession crisis (in about 1932). He was heavily involved in this and may have been trying to prove something. Who knows? Who cares? 

Pearce, a man who knew the value of a show of strength, decided that what the emus needed was a hefty dose of good old-fashioned military might. And so Major GPW Meredith of the Royal Australian Artillery was sent, along with two soldiers, two Lewis guns, and 10,000 bullets, into the scrubland to show the emus just who was the more highly-evolved species.

Right between the eyes ... 

Almost immediately the expedition ran into trouble. The soldiers attempted to herd the emus into a suitable place in which to mow them down en masse, but the birds, well-trained in guerrilla tactics, continually split into small groups and ran off in different directions, making it damnably difficult for the guns to draw a bead on them. Also, the guns tended to jam. When the guns did work, and when an emu stood still long enough to shoot at, they proved resistant to bullets to an unsettling degree.

Meredith wrote that "if we had a military division with the bullet-carrying capacity of these birds it would face any army in the world. They can face machine guns with the invulnerability of tanks."

The soldiers retreated, weary and sick of the sight of feathers. Meredith's official report noted, optimistically, that his men had suffered no casualties. The emus' report noted that humans were slow-moving and stupid. The House of Representatives debated the matter and questions were asked of the minister regarding whether medals were to be awarded for survivors of the campaign.


The question of why, blessed as we are with a native animal that is essentially a cross between an armoured car and a velociraptor, our military has not taken advantage by training emus for combat duty in the ADF, remains unanswered to this day.

The day was not yet through, however, and it was not the case that we had exhausted all tourist opportunities in Broken Hill. The G had booked us to go to OutbackAstronomy where, we were promised, we would “hang out with the stars”. We arrived far too early but that didn’t matter as we had a marvellous time. The idea is that you go outside, lie in a reclining chair and look at the stars through reasonably powerful binoculars that they provide. The enterprise is run by a couple called Linda and Trav and she talks about the stars and planets and all that stuff. The night was as perfect as you could wish for; it was a little chilly but not too bad and there was not a single cloud in the sky. What I thought was a cloud was the milky way and stardust. I loved this so much I bought a pair of massive binoculars so I could lie on my back at home and gaze at the stars. Of course, I probably never shall do so but it’s a nice thought. Mind you Terry and Enid also bought a pair of binoculars so maybe I am not so crazy. 

We are as an atom in our universe.

26 July – Menindee and a red gum forest

The old church in which we are staying has been tastefully renovated. I am not sure whether a design consultant was engaged to assist in the acquisition of the appliances. If one was so engaged then he or she failed in a couple of areas. There was in the kitchen one of the weirdest taps I have seen. It was a veritable piece of industrial equipment. Designed to allow its operator the facility to have a steady or sprinkled flow of water it failked on both counts. We have a taps at home that offer this same functionality but that present themselves in a far more attractive way. There was a double sink but this fantastic (I use that word in the traditional sense) device could reach only one of the two sinks.

You would think that if you spent a lot of money on a tap, however hideous, that it woudl be functional.

There was an electric cooker. Now, I generally dislike electruic cookers with a passion. They take a long time to get hot. You cannot turs them down in a hurry and, frankly, they just don't cook very well. I am unanimous in this view. The cooker in the church had a control panel that, even to a technological adept like I am, was a mystery.

In en suite in our bedroom there was (well, of course there was) a sink. It had an attractive looking tap at its right hand end. The spout on the tap was not long enough so it was impossible to put a hand or even a toothbrush into the flow from the tap without splashing water everywhere.

Left: The cooker controls. There are four "+" signs but only one "-". Right: The tap that is too short for its own good.

Given that we have sucked Broken Hill dry so far as tourist diversions are concerned, we decided that we would go to Menindee. Menindee is about 100 kms away; we had tried the first 20 kms yesterday. There is little to see on the way; the bush is relatively unvarying. The plains roll away to the horizon, there is some scrub but very few trees (except those around Stephen’s Creek (which was dry) which could be seen from miles around.

The landscape on the road between Broken Hill and Menindee is about as interesting as watching a plank warp

Around Menindee are the Menindee Lakes. These are a chain of shallow ephemeral freshwater lakes connected to the Darling River to form a storage system. There didn’t seem to be much storage to me. But the lakes are ephemeral so they come and go. Not everyone is happy with the whole water thing in relation to the Murray. A few kays out of Menindee there is a pumping station where protest signs are thick on the ground. We stopped there for a look. According to Wikipedia, the system holds 1,731,000 megalitres, which would be quite a lot but it didn’t all look that good to my untrained eye. There was a dam but the water level looked worryingly low. The purpose of this catchment is to service Broken Hill.

Broken Hill, of course, has bugger all water so its water is piped in from the Murray. Two days ago we saw Umberumberka Dam and it was completely dry. I assume mining uses a lot of water. I use metal like anyone else but I continually bring myself up short with the ecological and environmental implications of all this shit.

Some sort of catchment area near Menindee. The level looked pretty low to me . Having drained Umberumberka Dam, the good burghers of Broken Hill are now determined to drain the Menindee Lakes.

Terry decided that he could no longer cope with the environmental desolation. He lay there for a while before I sang, from the Warren Zevon song, "the railroad don't run no more, poor poor pitiful me"

Environmentalists have stuck up crosses in protest

We drove into Menindee, population 981 (according to the sign but only 449 according to Wikipedia) and elevation 70 metres, which looked like it had fallen into a long sleep. The last exciting this that happened to Menindee was when Burke and Wills made it their Camp 34. They left, I suppose, saying “don’t do anything until we get back” and nobody has. 

Menindee High Street. This picture was taken on a busy day.

We thought that Menindee must have something to offer and we noticed that there was a Tourist Information Centre. We entered. There was therein a large woman who appeared to be lifeless. The G wondered whether we should call someone but she came to. The G locked her in conversation. We had seen a sign to Kinchega National Park and also the tourist literature we had from Broken Hill suggest that there was an old shearing shed to be seen. Our Tourist Information friend was of the view that it was “just an old shearing shed” and that there wasn’t much to see and that we should probably just bugger off. The G told me later that there are accredited and unaccredited Tourist Information Centres and that this was unaccredited.

They have some peculiar equipment in Menindee.

By golly, my old phone. I wondered where that had got to!

 There is in Menindee an old pub that has been run by the same family, the Maidens, for 150 years or more. Terry and Enid decided they would take refreshment there but The G and I decided we would risk the Kinchega National Park and the old shearing shed. By golly, we were glad we did. The road was a dirt road and exciting in places; well, not that exciting but there were some slippery bits.

The Maidens Hotel in Menindee. The Central Darling Shire website says of this hotel that it was "built in 1853 by Thomas Pain" and that "explorers Burke & Wills were guests at the Hotel in 1860 on their way North ... never to return". Burke, by all accounts, was a total dickhead.

The road to the national park passes the Menindee Cemetery and you will not be surprised that we stopped there. We were amazed that there were so many flowers of the graves. There were also buried there many Maidens (of the pub).

You have to wonder what happened to the Power children. The stone reads "In loving memory of our darling children Ted Power who departed from this world 27th October 1935 age 9 years 1 month. Also Pat Power sister of above who departed from this world 27th October 1935 age 7 years 11 months."

There were more flowers in Menindee Cemetery than you can imagine. I wonder who puts them all there.

The shearing shed at Kinchega National Park (they call it a woolshed) was fascinating. It had been in operation from the 1800s to 1957 (so we could have gone as children and seen it working). Inside the woolshed, were all the paraphernalia of sheep shearing. In 97 years of operation, six million sheep were sheared there. There were tools and equipment just lying around. It was untouched really. Outside was more ironmongery than you could imagine. There was a truly huge traction engine that a sign said had been “walked” from Melbourne. I tool this to mean that it had been driven there (I assume at an average speed of 5mph; it must have taken weeks).

The shearing shed: The G told me they had sheared 6 million sheep there in its operating love which ran from 1875 to 1972. It was large enough for 64 shearers to work at the same time. At the very first shearing in the woolshed in 1875, a staggering 72,800 sheep were shorn, producing 1,421 bales of wool which were sent down the Darling River by paddle steamer. 

This was the way in for the sheep.

Wonderful old iron

Two benches full of tools and a row of shearing stations

There were another couple of people there who told us that the river drive was good so we though we would try it. It was marvellous. The track runs along the side of the river and through a red gum forest. 

The road ran alongside the river through a forest of red gums.

The G doing a bit of tree hugging. They are pretty massive, these red gums.

The forest was full of birds including the Mallee Ringneck Parrot which had, as the Monty Python sketch would have it, beautiful plumage. There was a ruined homestead on the way. We stopped and looked. It’s hard to imagine how these folks managed so far away from anywhere. They planted their own fruit trees and had to be completely self-sufficient. The homestead is gone now but people were there in our lifetime.

The Mallee Ringneck. Beautiful plumage, beautiful plumage.

We spent over two hours in the national park before heading back. 

The pipeline carrying water for Broken Hill.

There was, in fact, one more sight to see in Broken Hill before we could truly say we had done the lot. This is the Living Sculptures display. This is the result of a sculpture symposium that happened in 1993 and I have to say I was completely underwhelmed by this. Terry and Enid had not come to the national park but had gone on ahead. Now Terry is a sculptor and knows about these things. We had called him to say how we were tracking and he was there at the time. He was not impressed. He is an expert so I bow to his view.

A sculpture at the Living Sculptures. Underwhelming.

The other thing about the Living Sculptures place was that every sign seemed to say what you could not do. There was little advice about what you could do.

We were booked to enjoy another gastronomic experience, this time at the Royal Exchange. I had booked a cab for 18:50; I had done this at 15:45 so the cab company (Yellow Taxis; they are up to the minute and do not seem to have a website) had had plenty of time to prepare. The cab did not appear. They had my mobile number but they did not call me. Instead I had to call them to get all sorts of pathetic excuses. A cab did appear eventually at 17:05. So the fact that the cab company has 17 cabs (as I reported the other day) does not seem to equate to a customer service capability.

We arrived at the Royal Exchange where we found a pair of waitresses who were really friendly and attentive. The younger of the two had a very fetching hair-do reminiscent of a beehive; her hair was coloured ash blond (that would be grey, of course, on an older woman). Then began what I can only describe as a catalogue of misfortunes. I decided on the pork belly. There was no pork belly. Then I decided on the eye fillet. This was really good but they can and told me that unfortunately there was no carrot purée for the meat to sit on. Now, of course, had she said nothing I would have been none the wiser. Because she had said something I expressed my surprise that the kitchen could run out of a basic so basic as a carrot. Were there no carrots to be had in Broken Hill? Enid had ordered the Scotch fillet which turned out to be less than edible (and had arrived with the wrong sauce). The Scotch fillet was sent back.

The Royal Exchange, Broken Hill. Apparently there was fine dining to  be had here but we didn't find it.

Notwithstanding all this, clearly a failing in the kitchen, the two waitresses were sweetness and light; they remained cheery and friendly. They will go far. The chef will not. We then had to fight over the bill. They proposed to charge for the Scotch fillet and that was not happening on my watch. The G, of course, is a kind and cheery person, always willing to see the positive side of anything. In this case, I fancy, even she was less than impressed. But we had a cheery evening overall and tomorrow we move on. Mildura beckons with Wentworth on the way.