Sidelined

There is only one platform at Wauchope Railway Station. One platform in use. This platform has not been used for a while is my guess. Gradually the land around the station is being leased/sold for community use. The old station master's cottage is being recycled in this way. I suspect this old platform, though, will just settle down to its stumps.

XPT Stop

Looking north from Wauchope railway station, on the mid-north coast of NSW. The bridge in the distance takes the track across the Hastings River. I stand to be corrected, but I think 'XPT' stands for Express Train. Which it wasn't!

It was travelling from Brisbane to Sydney. By the time it picked me up at Wauchope it was 15 minutes late. Instead of arriving at Central Station (Sydney) at 9:02pm, I arrived at 9:45pm. Harumpf ... ...

F is for Free

He didn’t start with that name.

He was one of three ‘Heinz‘ dogs that adopted my brother many years ago, too long ago for him to remember. They appeared out of the blue, jumped on the back of the ute, and hitched a ride to where-ever. He had only gone into town for tins of soup and sliced peaches and powdered milk from the Co-op.

They answered to the call ‘dogs’. ‘Car’n dogs! Let’s go.’

A few months later, the two larger dogs, in an explosion of high spirits, jumped off the Jackaroo tray, high-tailed it across the paddock, under the fence, and into the bush. That was the last Baz saw of them, probably got lost looking for another soft-touch to hitch a ride with.

Baz turned to go inside, when he stumbled over the kelpie. ‘Car’n Free. Let’s eat.’

They have been inseparable ever since, Baz and Free.


A member of the ABC Wednesday community.

E is for end of the road

Like ageing vertebrae, wheel rims slice through the perished tyres, leaving the skeleton of the once proud Kombi languishing within its earthen tomb. The duco peels, enticing rust to penetrate further. Rainwater trickles unimpeded between windscreen wipers to the very heart of the beast which lies silent and bereft within the decaying frame. A door stands absentmindedly ajar, a beacon for a slither of snake and a web of spider, a belfry of bat and a crunch of cockroach.

It rests, past its use-by-date, alone and unattended in the paddock. Within reach of the shed stacked high with spare parts, with oil guns, with wheel jacks, with tyres saved from neighbouring heaps. Inexorably sinking into the squelch of the primordial slime, the van is reclaimed by the jungle, abandoned and exhausted.

A forlorn sight, engulfed by the glowing grasses, consumed by earth, wind, and water, it endures its inevitable fate.


A member of the ABC Wednesday community.

C is for cobwebs

A nip was still in the air as the sun peeped over the clumping bamboo into the orchard, planted twenty years ago beside Molly Milligan, where the loam is deep and fertile.


The dew of the night clung to the handiwork of the field spiders, as the warming air stretched its sleepy extremities. Each droplet blinged its beauty, in anticipation of an unwary insect straying into its clutches.


A member of the ABC Wednesday community.