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Edward Hougham Royes migrated from London to Sydney about 1834, and moved to Crocodile Creek near Mount Morgan by the 1870s. Bruce is a descendant. A map in the museum locates Crocodile Creek:  Mount Morgan public toilets!  View of the town (click for larger view):  and of the old mine:  |
Benaraby to Rockhampton
via Mount Morgan
The beginning of our second week saw us saying goodbye to the pleasures of
Benaraby’s caravan park as we took the road for Rockhampton. On the way, we
planned to stop at the old mining town of Mount Morgan. Bruce was keen to
see it as he had some family history to explore.
Mount Morgan had to be approached via a very steep, winding road.
Bougainvillea bloomed profusely down the mountain slopes, purple in the
bright sunlight and adding a sparkle to the otherwise dry and arid scene.
The road took us finally into the old town, enlivened by Bauhinia trees
everywhere covered in massed pink blossom, more abundant than any I had seen
in cooler Sydney. We parked at the railway station, now a tourist centre.
Bruce chatted to the assistant there while I browsed among the items for
sale and bought a souvenir cloth badge. As Bruce was not given any
satisfactory information and as we had been directed to the local museum,
we drove the few blocks away and parked in a wide, dusty side street.
The museum was more rewarding. There were many artefacts helping the visitor
to imagine life in the early years of mining in the town. Life there must
have been extremely harsh, as even now in late winter, the temperature was
high. Bruce was excited to find some clues to his family’s story on an old
map while I was fascinated with the story of discovery of gold and copper
including back-stabbing and betrayal that went on behind the scenes. We
emerged stimulated and desperately in need of a drink. Once the latter was
obtained, we sat at a sidewalk table and took in the hot, dry very
Australian outback scene. Again, bougainvillea flowered everywhere and
crows, carking loudly, made their presence felt. Across the road in the
school playground, children were running about and laughing in the sunlight,
oblivious to the dust and heat. Mount Morgan is still a lively town, but in
a very small way relative to its illustrious past.
Hopping back in the van, we drove to a vantage point to see from a distance
the old and now disused mine with its landmark smoke stack. Bruce took more
photos before I took the wheel again and retraced our route slowly down the
steep road and on to Rockhampton.
Rockhampton provided a stark contrast to Mount Morgan. Big, busy, lush, its masses of golden cane palms, street gardens and even median
strips packed with well-kept flowers and foliage reflected gloriously the
brilliant sunlight. We were soon settled in our caravan park and I was
delighted to note that even though I’d have to use the public amenities,
they were only a few metres away and more than adequate. Huge eucalypts
shaded the parked vans and birds of many kinds, especially bright lorikeets
and sulphur-crested cockatoos were everywhere. I was already enchanted and
the close proximity of other friendly campers who smiled and nodded to us
only enhanced that.
Quickly, we set up the lunch table under the trees, ate and relaxed briefly
before taking a long walk to the nearest shopping centre as we needed more
food supplies. Teenagers were streaming out of the nearby school as we
walked, traffic was heavy and construction work along the sides of the
highway was much in evidence as we walked along. We felt quite at home,
though the tropical growth did give Rockhampton a quality different from
what we are used to.
After we’d filled our backpacks with the shopping, we strolled back. On the
way we passed an old Bauhinia tree whose deep magenta flowers were larger
than any I’d ever seen. I plucked one off and carried it carefully ‘home’
and when we’d settled at the table again, I did my best to draw an image of
it, making notes of its details for future reference hastily before the
inevitable bruising spoilt it for good. All the while, birds screeched
around happily, the sun though now on the way out for the day still lit up
the overhanging foliage and ‘all was well and very well’ in my world. I
reached for my novel and read for another happy hour, laughing out loud and
often, perfectly relaxed.
The evening wore on. We had our meal and retired early. Tomorrow was to be
a long day.