A Joy Ride on a Narrow Gauge Line
Published in The Age, Saturday 6th July 1918, page 17
By A Correspondent
From Colac to Crowes is about 50 miles, on a narrow gauge railway, and if anyone is suffering from the blues, or has a deranged liver, I can heartily recommend the trip. For I have been there. I decided to run down to Crowes for a week end a short time ago. I got to Colac safely. Then I looked for the train to Cowes. It commences on a line of its own, of course, away at the back of everything. There is no platform, or steps, or anything, in fact, except a very obliging engine driver. It is a low-looking little train, just like the cable trams in fact. I climbed on board. The engine driver, after a last look around, in case anybody was overlooked, turned a handle, and we were off. And we plunged straight away into the bush. The guard came along, and I had a chat with him. How long did we take? “Oh, about seven hours.” “Seven hours!” “Yes. Over most of the journey we can only run about three miles an hour!”
I remarked that we were going more than that now. “Oh, yes, we are going fully eight. But we will have to slow down presently. There you are,” as the train commenced to wind up a steep hill.
And there we were. The train doubled back on itself until we could nearly shake hands with the driver. I was in the van. The guard kept the door open all the while. “Here you are, Bill,” he shouted, as the train nearly stopped. A bag of bread was flung out, and, as the result of much practice, neatly caught. There were many bags dealt with in similar fashion. “No baker up this way,” remarked the guard. Presently there was a yell. “Hullo,” said the porter, “that’s Bill Hallowell, I suppose. He’s going on to Laver’s Hill.” The train stopped, and Bill climbed on board. He had two bags with him.
“Keep a look out for Jim Beechey,” he said to the guard, as he started to fill his pipe.
Then we came to Beech Forest. Beech Forest is the end of civilisation, said the guard.
The train barely moved now. Too twisty and steep, said the guard. Black cockatoos and Gang Gangs came past us. Great trees reared themselves above the train. We were in the heart of the Beech Forest. We stopped at a splitters’ camp soon after. The splitter was there. He exchanged one parcel for another. He leaned up against the engine for a yarn. The driver was nothing loath, and they yarned contentedly for ten minutes.
“Oh, well, Jim, I must get along. So long!” and off we moved.
Presently the guard yelled out, “Here’s Jim Beechey.” His mate ambled to the door of the van, and the pair had a long and very earnest discussion. The engine driver got impatient, and blew a blast of his whistle At last the guard interfered.
“Come on,” he said. “You’ve had a good yarn. We can’t stay here all day.” So we moved on again.
We came to a place called Wylangta, or something like it [ed: Wyelangta]. All hands adjourned to the wine saloon. The train was deserted.
I sat on the step, and yarned with a hoary-headed old chap who came along for his bread. He hooked it out of the van, and sat down.
“Pretty easy going here?” I ventured.
“Yes,” he replied. “Why not?”
I didn’t know, and said mildly, “Oh, yes.”
Presently the crowd came sauntering back from the wine shop. The engine driver gave three long whistles, to round up stragglers. Then we moved off once more.
“I’m certain Tom Harrison isn’t on board,” called out the guard.
“Well, let him stay off,” roared the driver.
It was the only harsh sentence I had yet heard from him. However, there was a loud yell, the engine pulled up, and Tom climbed on board.
“Ye’re in a hell of a hurry to-day,” he remarked, as he subsided on to a bag of seed oats.
“Yairs; got the mails on board,” said the guard, with a broad grin. Tom grinned, too.
At the next station a man was sitting on a bench, waiting for his bread. Suddenly a man near me got very excited.
“See! look under ’im,” he shouted, and he waved his hand excitedly. “Snake.”
The man jumped about five feet into the air. Several of us rushed out to attack the snake, but he had disappeared.
At the next station there were some fine young gums, with gorgeous branches and lovely tendrils. A lady got out to get some. She shook her umbrella at the engine driver as she went. “Now don’t go without me.” But he got tired with waiting at last. He blew the whistle very hard. The lady, who was well within sight of all of us, called out, “All right. I’ll be there in a minute. But I must get this bunch.” She got it, and climbed panting on board. And we moved a few yards further on.
At last we came to Laver’s Hill. We waited a while. Just on principle, I think. Then the driver spoke up. “You’d better run up to the pub, and ask Paddy Ryan if there’s anyone, for us?” he said. So the guard set off for the pub—about 100 yards away. We could all see him.
In response to a loud whistle Paddy came to the door. “All right,” he said, “there’s a woman going on. She’ll be there in a minute.”
Presently she emerged, carrying a big bag. The guard took it. Both of them got on. “Sure that’s all, Bill?” queried the engine driver. “Yes, let her go,” said the guard, and we moved on again.
At the Gellibrand station we let down two chaps, who were going fishing and shooting. “We’re going home to-morrow,” they shouted.
Next day, however, only one of them was there. “I say,” said this chap, “where’s Harry?” The guard came along. “Got Harry on board?” queried the first man. “No.” “Well, I’ll whistle him up,” said he. So the whistle got to work for nearly half an hour. Still no Harry. So we moved on again.
At Laver’s Hill was a buggy and pair, The driver, who was evidently the bush humorist, said, “Beat yer to Beech Forest, Andy?” But Andy wasn’t on. He’s got a real good pair, he said. It is seventeen miles of very rough corduroy to Beech Forest, but, to my astonishment when we got there, the first thing we saw was the joker in the yard with his pair.
I was a little late in catching the train at Crowes the morning I came away. I rushed breathlessly on to the platform. “Is the train here?” I asked the station master. “Yairs,” he drawled.
He gave his hand a wave. “There’s the engine driver and his fireman gone fer a feed.”
“A feed!” I ejaculated. “And they are a quarter of an hour late now!”
“Well, would you have them go off with out a feed?” said the station master disgustedly. “Anyhow, they won’t.”
The way down to Colac was even more leisurely than the road up. “So long as we catch the Melbourne midday, we’re right,” said the guard.
We caught it.
I had enjoyed myself thoroughly, and I parted with the little placid train regretfully.
