author: tony mate bozich
the track
I walk along the beaten track to old Coolgardie town
where pioneers trudged in earliest days with grim but hopeful frown,
the asphalt whispers, murmurs low, my mind is all unhearing,
I think about the men who slogged through bush and heat all searing.
******
the discovery of Coolgardie
Seventeenth of September 1892,
a spring day crisp and clear,
when the timeless bush all through
boasts a wild flowering without peer.
In Southern Cross on this day
outside the cafe, post office, hotel
men talk and wile time away,
work has been quiet a spell.
Up and down the main street,
in groups of various size scattered,
young, not young, slovenly or neat,
but all in the custom hatted.
A lone horseman comes into view,
a pack animal in tow behind,
“The usual red dust covered through,”
a moment observes the common mind.
For it’s nothing unusual seeing
men straggling in from the bush,
the rationale of most hereabouts being
eventually making a prospecting push.
Arthur Bayley is recognised by most,
he struck gold at Lake Anneen,
been to many a remote outpost,
he’s bushwise and athletically keen.
His mount traverses the potholed street
while attention to prior themes recedes,
later in the hotel they’ll meet,
ascertain how country he’s visited reads.
But he continues past the hotel,
heads for the Mining Warden’s place
and suddenly a mental warning bell
causes the general pulse to race.
“Hey, it’s Bayley!” goes the cry,
some noticing the bulging saddle bags,
and struck by realisation why
outside Finnerty’s Bayley halts the nags.
The crowd dispersed about the thoroughfare
from a mien submerged and sickly
in a minute mass from everywhere,
their intrinsic resilience surfacing quickly,
by which time Bayley’s scrambled inside,
escaping the inevitable crush
of hundreds sensing his dusty ride
reeks of a gold strike lush.
And indeed with Compton the registrar
for the official Yilgarn Mining Ward
he registers a claim located far
in two names – Bayley and Ford.
*****
in memoriam
There’s William Ford and Arthur Bayley,
immortal names they are,
by Goldfields folk remembered daily
though long they’ve crossed the bar.
‘Twas they and their prospecting mates
the odds stacked high resisted,
and though their memory slow abates
forever high they’re listed.
******
Moya Sharp
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Old Coolgardie, Known as the “Old Camp” to many old Prospectors.