Henry Lawson Centre
Last week I traveled to rural NSW. I had some matters to attend to in Mudgee and Gulgong. What a strange place Gulgong is. I walked down the road and stared across at the rusted railroad that looked like it was melting like a stick of old mayonnaise. I noted the dusty sports cars that were actually Ford Pick up trucks in disguise. I searched for Chinese food and found none. There seemed to be the smell of nostalgia for the forgotten Australia. Either that or someone was eating some rife food. I wished to learn more about this weird mysterious town. I searched for some information on local history at the Gulgong museum. What I discovered astounded me. I had roots in this hic town!
Some time ago a couple of distant relatives had disappeared from Gulgong with no trace or any reason behind their departure. Perhaps that nostalgia I felt was merely a reunification with that which was once lost? Pfft. Irrespective it all seemed quite unbelievable and thus warranted an investigation. The gentlewoman who served me was an old Sydneysider and so was not well read in Gulgong’s ‘esteemed’ local history. However I did wonder if any individual working in a museum that doubled as a fire arm warehouse could be of assistance in a pursuit for historical truth!
The evidence I found was inconclusive and contradictory. There were two dissimilar middle names ascribed to one individual and different death dates given to another. One individual’s grave location was listed as ‘unknown’ and the other was worn away and illegible. I could barely make out the names Hector and Elizabeth. It would seem that Gulgong’s archives had listed them as deceased when I had been informed otherwise.
It was fascinating going through pages of local history. There were thousands of pages of untold stories of families now forgotten. However searching through the boxes of books I couldn’t help but feel discouraged by the lack of information on this Gulgong connection.
What an odd man
In the pursuit of further knowledge I headed to the Henry Lawson centre hoping to find some sort of clarification. Whilst inquiring about the matter to the frail old man behind the front desk, I watched in the corner as a short man with baggy pants and curly hair began ruffling through pages of information from what looked like settlement documents. I was unsure if the figure was a member of the centre or just a visitor with no respect for the past! Either way the old man seemed not to care.
The words of the French historian Marc Bloch ringed in my ears : “The historian is, by definition, absolutely incapable of observing the facts which he examines.“
But I was no historian. Just a spectator of events.
After I had finished speaking the old man looked at me blankly for a beat. He blinked once and then twice. He slowly let out his hands and put a photograph of Henry in my hands. He smiled, lifted his arms and proceeded to close up shop.
Perhaps some matters in life are best left to speculation.
Flip
