There was a man by the name of John Hawes who was a parish priest up to the 1930’s. in the Yalgoo/Murchison district. In a biography on his life he tells of how, after riding all day, he spent the night at a lonely wild spot with a well called the ‘Shadow of Death’. There was nothing left but the sad ruins of roofless old buildings composed of sun dried mud bricks.

These were the ruins of a hotel that had been run by a man called Tom (Possum) Oliver called  the Golden Grove Hotel, better known as the Shadow of Death. It is described by John Hawes as a little wayside Inn halfway between Fields Find and Yalgoo. It opened around the same time as the fields and closed by the start of WW1. No doubt the coming of the automobile was its final doom as it was no longer required as an overnight stopping place for a change of horses.

Remains of the Shadow of Death Hotel in 1981

The hotel was referred to by Constable Meginess, in a not too complimentary manner, after his first night there en route to Fields Find. Although it must not have been as bad as he had first thought because he spent many a night there on gold escort duty without further complaint. By all reports the inn was rough but homely, renowned for its hospitality thought somewhat lacking in personal comforts and often out of liquor and forage. The police records show that it was sometimes in danger of not being re licenced because of its lack of amenities. As late as 1909 PC Jensen gave the following pre licensing report ‘Its condition is much improved with a three stalled stable and yard attached. A WC has been erected (prior to this one went behind a suitable bush). There is a little more furniture added to the bedrooms and a good supply of forage and liquor is at hand.

‘A teamster was on his way south with stores for a wayside pub known as the Shadow of Death, run by a tall black bearded giant of a man called Tom Oliver. Tom and his missus were well known for their hospitality and what their shanty lacked in amenities they made up for in generosity. What matter if the berries blew into the soup or if the hens rested on your bed? What if the kids played cricket with the piece of rock salt the missus used for cooking?”

Just how the inn became to be known as the Shadow of Death is a little vague. Toms son Ned says it was called the shadow because it was quite and lonely like a ghost town, only a shadow, then some wag added ‘of death’, or the name may have been inspired by a verse of A B Pattersons poem:-

Conroys Gap

D’you know the place? It’s a wayside Inn,
A low grog shanty -a bushman trap,
Hiding away in its shame and sin
Under the shelter of Conroy’s Gap.
Under the shade of that frowning range
The roughest crowd that ever drew breath-
Thieves and rowdies, uncouth and strange,
Were mustered round the Shadow of Death.

This was not a fitting description, belittling the proprietor and the location. Golden Grave conjours up a truer setting. Standing with is front almost on the road it must have been a welcome sight for the weary traveler. A days ride in either direction was ground of flat, shade less and covered by stunted vegetation but here, for a few kilometers, tall gum trees flourished in the little valley between the breakaways.

The licensee, Thomas Oliver, married Jane Herbert in 1887 and by the early 1890’s had established a home near to Golden Grove where he ran sheep and cattle. In 1894 he acquired a licence and opened the hotel. Thomas and Jane were to have ten children most of whom were born at the Inn. Jane died in 1910 due to complications after a miscarriage and is buried on the hill behind the hotel next to the grave of one of their sons.

Jane’s grandson, Bob Moorhead, who had a GML at the Iron Duke visited the site in 1946 while on his honeymoon and tidied the graves and erected a fence around them. Bob was the son of Jane’s oldest child, Winifred Elizabeth Oliver. The Inn was to appear in the 1909 list of licenced premises but by 1910 it had disappeared. It was assumed that this was when it closed. Time has erased almost all evidence and all that remains is a large mound of earth which is the remains of the mud bricks which made up the fireplace.

Geraldton Guardian (WA : 1906 – 1928), Tuesday 17 March 1908, page 4 ‘The Shadow of Death Hotel’

Cyril, rather relieved. “But surely, in such a desolate district as this apparently is, there is not sufficient business for even small pot  houses. What an awful name, though — ‘The Shadow of Death’ — whoever named the house?”

Tigertail proceeded to favor his fare with historical details, but it should have been obvious that he was drawing on a vivid imagination. ” ‘O’ course,” he continued, “the’ signboard over th’ door ‘as got ‘The Golden’ Grove Hotel’ wrote on it, but all us ole ‘ands reckons that name’s too flash fer such a shanty, so it’s called ‘Th’ Shadder’ fer short. It wuz a multy millionaire sort uv chap as give the ‘ouse thet name. ‘E ha’ a beano there, years ago, ‘n got took away to th’ Cue horspital in the’ horrers. Yes,  crook on the grog! “How scandalous! Had you no excise inspectors at that time?’ asked the jackeroo. “Yes, but, yer know, it wuz funny carryin’s on in them days. I tell yer, young chap, yer ain’t never ‘eard tell of such times as wuz in th’ boom days. W’en th’ fields fust broke out, water wuz dear as beer, pretty nigh; ‘n’ nugitt wuz plentifuller ‘n mutton chops. We used champagne fer shavin’ water, them days.”

Cyril remarked that such a state of affairs was incredible to him, but related a circumstance which he thought relevant to Australian boom times. He had heard that three college chums of his, having been lured from luxurious homes by glowing reports of the colonies,’ had migrated to the Riverina— wherever that night be. He believed, though, that they had since left that district -and gone in for whaling; and taking into consideration how badly things had gone with him of late, he often wished that he had invested his small patrimony in the same venture.

Sound, advice had been given the new arrival by Hitchings, who suggested that it would be politic, on Cyril’s part, to ‘shout’ immediately on arrival. The landlady, her eldest daughter (the barmaid), and the mailman were therefore invited to take some thing, but the young gentleman was surprised to notice that seven juveniles had been pushed into the bar and included in the round without his authority. The children had to consume a half nobbler of weak condensed milk and water each. A sovereign was tendered in payment, and the coin was bitten and well ‘rung’ before being surreptitiously consigned to

Mrs.Oliver’s bosom. Having become nearly stupefied by sampling something out of a “Best Whisky” bottle, the jackeroo asked to be shown to his room.

‘We stay here for the night, I believe, madame,’ he said. ‘Yes, Mr. Wellsby, sir, you stays till mornin’, but I’m sorry your room won’t be ready till bed-time. You know, there are so few callers that wants beds at “The Golden Grove,” that the public bedroom don’t get slept in more’n about once or twice a year, so we uses it for keepin’ ‘roo and sheepskins in. The profits of the ‘otel are so small, that my ‘usband— ‘Possum Oliver’— ‘as to do a bit of trading’ in skins and sandalwood, to keep ‘ouse and ‘ome together, so you see the bedroom comes in ‘andy for a storeroom . Before you go to bed, though, I’ll sprinkle insectibane over the pillows and blankets, to keep the weevils and ticks off ‘o you.” The sybaritic young Englishman thought hard. Disgusted and dazed with the gastric turbulence that his drink of whisky induced, he went outside, and sat down on a bench in the veranda. Presently Miss Oliver came out to him and handed him a dingy looking towel. She told him he would find a lump of soap under the horse trough if he wanted a wash before dinner.