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| Coming down from the Central Plateau |
Meanwhile, back in Tasmania, I was invited to an art exhibition at Poatina, perched halfway up the mountain, between the the Highlands and the plains. Poatina is another former Hydro -Electric village – yes, they are all over Tasmania – it’s what we do best.* Like many such villages it carries an Aboriginal name. This one means cave or rocky overhang.
Poatina (pop. 118 in 2021) was where my father worked on construction in the late 1950’s and came home to Launceston only every 3 weeks or so. I had never really seen Poatina in daylight. Now I could see modest pale brick houses clustered around a central service area with a general store, a gift shop, a thrift shop, a tearoom, a petrol station and the little Tree Gallery tucked up in a corner of the shopping centre. Around the perimeter were community gardens, a golf club and a swimming pool. In its heyday it also boasted a cinema and school, but I didn't see either of those.
* The Hydro Electric Commission was so good at this - could pop a fully functioning township in some of the most difficult terrain in the country. We should contract them to deal with our housing problems!
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| What a dream this house would have been in the '50s and 60s - Julie's photo |
Welcome to the 1950s
We had arrived quite late after the long drive from Hobart and nothing was open, so we went straight to the modest brick house where were staying. It was a simple rectangular building with three bedrooms, a lounge and kitchen, a small bathroom and a generous laundry.
We would have given anything for a place like that in the 1950s and 60s. It even had a double sink and drawers which could be opened from the kitchen or the dining area and I could certainly do with all that storage. How light and spacious it would have seemed. We were still living in a converted garage at that stage, with the one bedroom divided up the middle by a curtain and our parents sleeping on one side while my sister and I slept on the other.
My best friend Cheryl, who lived a bit further up the road had a house like this, although she and her parents had also lived in a shack. Their new house was even fancier really, because it had a glass sliding door between the lounge and the kitchen but then, her Dad was a builder. The new blonde bricks had only just come onto the market. We were sure our house would look like that one day too – Dad had already drawn up the plans but we had to sell the house he'd built in George Town first. Those were not the happiest times in our lives and I hadn’t thought about it in a many a year.
A Symphony in Beige
The interior of this house was all beige, including the curtains. Dad had said there were only three colours available then – Cuban Tan, Wild Rice and Lemon Grass. I guess this one was Wild Rice. The interior had barely changed. There were a few concessions to modernity such as the flat screen television in the lounge, a couple of touch lamps, a microwave in the kitchen and a modern washing machine in the laundry. The chequered lino was definitely original, as was the Hills Hoist in the yard.
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| Lounge |
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| Kitchen |
There were no books, no paintings and no computers or internet connection. About the only thing missing was the Lux soap in a wire mesh basket for the dishes and three plaster ducks. John Howard would have loved it. Plain though it was, it was spotlessly clean and I slept like the dead on the comfortable bed with its crisp white sheets.
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| Dining - Julie's Photo |
Although only around 56 Km from Launceston, we would never have made it here in the 1950s. Few people had a car then and buses were almost as rare. The furthest we’d ever been from Launceston in the three years we were there, was a church picnic at Paper Beach on the Tamar and we got there by chartered bus.
Julie had brought books. I had a couple of games in my pack, but somehow neither of us felt like doing those things. Perhaps it was the long drive up over the mountains. We ate. We watched the news in much the same way as we used to sit around the radio back then and there being nothing else to do on a Saturday night in Poatina, we settled down to a long and restful night.
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| Walking the Labyrinth |
Next morning my friend and I did a gentle stroll around the town. The air was fresh - 10 C overnight, birds chirped and hundreds of butterflies tumbled back and forth in the grassland just below the village. The shops weren’t open yet, so we walked the Labyrinth at the top end of town and then to the Monument at the turnoff from the highway. The Monument must have been quite a sight with its fiery glass inserts lighting up the night, but a storm had practically levelled it and it was now a monument to nature’s power, rather than the 1500 men women who spent a good part of their lives here.
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| Like some kind of Neolithic relic this was the Monument to the workers and families of Poatina- after the storm |
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| Here's how it used to look |
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| View over the plains below and that other Monument to the work done here |
The Poatina Power Scheme was to supply power to industries in Launceston and Northern Tasmania by bringing the waters of the Great Lake down and running them through its generators. It accomplished a world first in that its power station was built completely underground by drilling a mighty cavern into the mountain behind it. When construction ended in 1990, most of the inhabitants moved away – many on to other Hydro villages, and this village with its permanent houses – not transportable as they were later, became a Christian community.
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| The only sign of the Village's new life was this tiny Chapel with free Bibles |
Another friend arrived later in the morning. She came. She
saw, stayed for the gallery opening but then left soon after. She had been
disappointed that there had been no one at the golf club or the swimming pool. There
were no children or dog walkers on the streets. No-one was out watering their garden. She
thought it looked like the film set for a cult movie.
The Tree Gallery was a surprise. It seems that there is quite an active artists’ community in Poatina which also boasts a glassblowing studio. Visiting artists come from all over to put on exhibitions and workshops. Small though it was, there was some lovely work on display. I can see how the quiet and even Poatina's very blandness could provide a perfect environment for creative activity. There' d been no time or place for art in those hard scrabble days of the 1950s.
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| In the Tree Gallery |
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| There is some lovely glasswork on display |
The Exhibition
Today's Artist - in -Residence is Sharon Roberts from Queensland. When her Park Ranger husband was posted to a remote National Park near the Queensland -New South Wales border, she began sketching and noting down her impressions and it is these which have formed the basis of this exhibition entitled "Temporal Echoes." When she returned home, she found herself making more and more variations of a sketch she had done of a particular tree – up to 50 in one instance, using all manner of different techniques and media, but the same simple palette of colours. The resulting series of paintings, photos, sound recordings and poems were the first 'echoes' from this experience, but there was another dimension as well.
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| Sharon talks about her work. Behind her are the many small paintings she made from her preliminary sketch |
Sharon discovered that her grandfather's body had been found on a roadside in this area - it may have been during the Great Depression when many men travelled from place to place in search of work. In this remoteness she felt close to him and while doing her drawings and later the paintings she felt she had forged a connection between her present and her past - another kind of echo, as she walked over ground her grandfather may have traversed. You can see more of Sharon’s work here, or better still, on Instagram.
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| Guests |
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| The adjoining tearoom |
For a short while the little town was abuzz. People were smiling
and friendly and the shops were open. The Tearoom was busy now, so I popped into the Op shop and then bought apples and a packet of
biscuits at the General Store. A big pool table had pride of place at the General Store. Afterwards, we cooked ourselves another meal, watched the
news again and went to bed. Our nightlife may not have been exciting, but it was certainly restful.
Butterflies tumble about in the grasslands below the village
Next time: A Visit to Liffey Falls (almost)
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