Published: 13 May 2021

It arrived late in the month addressed care of the Eureka Lead general store and addressed to Chance Wilcox in a hand he didn’t immediately recognise. Logan had been doing the hotel shopping when Morris Kent, the storekeeper passed him the letter, “did I tell you I’ll be taking over the postal agency?”

“No when will that be?”

“I guess when the papers come through.”

“More work for you,”

“It pay’s well and folk can’t put mail on the slate and clear out without attending to their account. Besides half you lot have your mail addressed here as it is, as you’re too lazy to walk an extra half mile.”

Logan checked the envelope.

“It’s for Chance,” he said.

“You can read then?”

Morris was one for games, double entendre and hidden meaning; he could phrase you in one breath and insult you with a smile with the next but had a way that never offended.

“I wonder who?”

“I don’t open people’s mail.”

Logan turned the letter over, “No return address.”

“This list of yours what’s shaoxing wine?”

“Something the cook asked for.”

“The Chow, how is he going, cooked up any stray cats as yet?”

“Not as yet, actually he is very good; you and Mary should come for dinner some night.”

“At your prices,”

“No really as our guest, you would be more then welcome.”

“Again what is this shaoxing stuff?”

“Don’t rightly know as I said he adds it to the cooking, surprisingly he has become quite popular with the locals and it is humorous watching the rougher element tuck into something exotic.”

“We have some condy’s crystals.” Morris offered as he mulled over the extensive list.

“For cooking?”

“I over-ordered and have to sell it off somehow, as for your shaoxing whatever; you will have to try the Chow emporium down the road.”

“Righto but cook would like some salted pork.”

“A barrel?”

“Funny man, no two pound will do.”

Once home Logan passed Chance the letter and dumped his shopping on the lobby desk. “You look concerned.”

“I don’t get letters.”

“You have now, who’s it from?”

Chance gave a shrug but was slow in opening the envelope, “what if it is bad news.”

“Only one way to find out.”

Chance slit the envelope, “by the way cook is prattling on about his shaoxing wine, or whatever it is.”

“Morris didn’t have it. I will have to go the Chow shop later, I did get the pork.”

“Good,” Chance commenced to read, “Oh,”

“Who is it from?”

“Sam and I’m surprised he can write – he can’t spell.” Chance read on. “Dad had a fall and hasn’t been too good but is improving although he can’t do half of what he used to do.”

“I thought Sam left for Sydney.”

“He did but the accident brought him back, he writes he couldn’t find proper work anyway.”

“I suppose you want to go home?” Logan asked.

“No it seems Sam has it under control, there is a footnote,” Chance said as he folded the letter back to the envelope.

“Go on,”

“Sam wished you a happy birthday, your Ned told him.”

“Did he mention yours?”

“Nope, so why break a habit from birth.”

Sam’s omission hurt Logan greatly; he took a deep breath held it before quickly releasing through gritted teeth.

“What?” Chance questioned.

“Just that, you are not but a footnote to some badly written letter, you are worth ten of him.”

“Logan it isn’t important, you are my family now and always.”

“It still makes me cranky.”

“Then don’t be, come on well go down to the Chow emporium together for shaoxing wine.”

“For the walk yes but I’m still angry with that lump of a brother of your’s.”

There had been men working along Eureka Street all month and the way had been paved in bluestone flags up to the Golden Shovel and beyond. Eureka Lead was no longer separated from the city by a multitude of tents and pits and houses were springing up like mushrooms in the spring, Eureka was now considered a suburb of greater Ballarat while most of the pits were either filled or covered over, often disregarding the drop beneath. Sometimes dwellings were constructed over the pits and their existence lost from memory, or concern left for a feature generation to consider. One such overfill ended in grief for one unlucky dwelling as one side disappeared down a sinkhole during a heavy rainstorm. Fortunately for the occupants it was their kitchen and they in the bedroom survived to complain to the city council: as usual little was done to elevate their distress.

It was a Sunny December morning and Chance was about early as there had been some problem with the latest delivery from the brewery. One of the barrels had been breached and the contents tasted bad. He had tried a half pint on old Charlie a regular to the hotel, who thought it was fine, a little different possibly but in the most fine, swilling it down in almost one gulp and asking for more. Chance had remained unsure on the quality and that evening his concern was justified, the brew went through Charlie’s system like the biblical purges of Egypt.

This morning there was fresh goings-on outside bringing Chance from the cellar to investigate, discovering workmen erecting a post close by the establishment’s front door. There were three men in all, one up a ladder, one passing up parts and the other standing akimbo watching the procedure while giving instructions that would be obvious to a five year old child.

“What are you up to?” Chance asked.

“Gaslight mate,” The man atop the ladder answered as he fitted some fragile appearing contraption to the top.

“Gas?”

“Yep, from Joseph Street right up to Kline,”

“Who’s paying for it?” Chance showed concern as up to that point it was the responsibility for hotels and bars to display oil lighting outside their door at their own expense.

“The city I should think; how about a beer?”

“What will your foreman say?”

“He won’t know,”

“Maybe when you’re finished,”

As the man atop the ladder spoke, Logan poked his head from the second floor window, “What’s the noise?”

“Gaslight,” both the man on the ladder and Chance spoke in unison.

“Who is paying for it?” Logan asked.

“That was also my question, he said the city,” Chance answered.

“Good,” Logan pulled his head back and closed the window.

It was three more days before the work on the gas lamps had reached Kline Street and two more before they were to be lit. There was much excitement in the Shovel bar about the project. Where would the gas come from, how were they lit and they would be a perfect target for the wayward kids in the district, with their shangahi-ging catapults firing stones at anything breakable.

“Tonight’s the night, come on let’s go and watch the lighting ceremony.” Chance said as the last of the daylight chassed across to the west. The boys had hardly passed their front door before a man approached along the street carrying a lantern and a long pole. “How does it work?” Chance asked as the man approached their lamp.

“Simple, once I turn on the gas, I use this pole to spark.” The man opened the gas flow and with a gentle spark there was light. Weak yellow light pooled about the ground for no more than a few yards, shining on the Shovel’s green painted door.

“Is it dangerous?” Chance asked.

“You need to watch the gas flow. We have already blown a couple up.”

“You actually have to come by every night and light them separately?”

“Yep and every morning to douse them.”

“That appears to be a lot of work for very little light,” Logan suggested.

“I have to push on; there are quite a few to light before Kline Street.”

The boys stood bathed in weak yellow lighting for some time before the novelty wore away. Logan was somewhat pessimistic about it all but did admit it was an improvement on the oil lamp they usually displayed and were often ticked for forgetting to do so.

“Progress, something you don’t like ay’ Chance,” he said with a cheeky slant in his tone.

“I do this one,” Chance answered.

“Possibly we could have the gas diverted into the hotel and light up all the rooms,” Logan expressed.

“That will neve happen;” Chance discredited.

“I don’t know. I hear it is already in the city.”

Chance shrugged away the suggestion.

“Progress my friend; you can’t escape it, so join with it. What was it Uncle Edward would say? Yes I remember, he would say you have go with the flow.”

“Huh,”

“Never mind there were many of Edward’s sayings that didn’t make a lot of sense.”

Progress indeed, the following week more of such was advertised in the Star newspaper. It was breakfast and the first page of the paper was printed with building excitement, ‘it has arrived at last,’ was the headline in bold letters.

Logan announced the leader loudly.

“What is here?” Chance asked, allowing the steam from his morning coffee to rise and sooth his eyes.

“The railway, the last half mile was finished yesterday and the first locomotive will be along next Wednesday.”

“Gas light, locomotives, what next a steam engine designed for the roads.”

“Could be but those big metal wheels would make a right mess of the road surface.”

“That they would, imagine if they could fly,” Chance fantasised.

Logan turned the page.”

“Like pigs,”

“What has pigs got to do with steam engines flying?”

“That is what James would say after hearing anything fanciful – then pigs could fly.”

“I remember and you would laugh and crudely answer, it would be a very shitty situation.”

“Now here is some interesting news,” Logan reported.

“What would that be?”

“On the obituary page and one would think deserving of a higher heading than the coming of steam,” Logan said.

“Who is dead?”

“Governor Hotham, it says he died in his rest and a broken man.”

“It was his own doing,” Chance pompously accused with his thought on the loss of Tom and the many.

“He was only doing his duty. Do you want the paper?”

Logan closed the paper and passed it to Chance who immediately turned to the classified section, “ah they remembered to post our advertisement in the paper this time.”

“You did say to mention our new cuisine?”

“I did and called it an Asian twist to English cooking.”

“The Asian bit may turn people away as there is an aversion towards Chinese in this district.”

“It’s been popular so far.”

“True they can cook our food, wash our clothes, grow our vegetables but not did for gold.”

“Greed is contagious.”

“Also continuous,” Logan agreed, “only yesterday a joker found a substantial nugget over at Kathleen and within minutes they were swarming all over like ants.”

“Or like Chinese,” Chance made jest.

There was a knock to the side door, “I’ll go,” Logan spoke and was halfway across the floor before Chance placed down the paper.

“Who is it?” Chance called back hearing voices.

“It’s the kid from the millinery shop.”

“Who Billy Cannan what does he want?”

“To talk with you.”

“Go in Billy, Chance is in the other room,” Logan invited and showed him through.

The young lad entered and stood silently centre room. Removing his battered straw hat he held it covering his dirty knees, one bearing the scab of a past abrasion, now bleeding after an obvious picking. He lacked shoes and his feet were even dirtier than his knees.

“What do you want Billy?” Chance quietly asked.

“Tis me ma’, she wants to know if she can have some lemons from your tree to make lemonade for the party.” The lad shyly lowered his eyes.

“What party would that be?”

Billy’s head lifted and his eyes widened with expecting excitement, “why the train it’s coming on Wednesday.”

“So it is. What do you think of that Billy?”

“Dunno’ but me da’ said he’d rather walk and ma’ said with all that soot she would have to wash every day and that the farmers think the noise will send their cows dry.”

“Take as many as you like and there is a bucket near the back steps you can use that.”

“Thank you sir,”

“I’ll give you a hand as most are higher up,” Chance offered and followed the lad to the back yard.

On reaching the tree they found a good many were naked on the branches, “possums,” Chance said and pointed to the rind stripped fruit.

“Possums?” Billy questioned.

“Yes they eat the rind off the lemons and leave the fruit dangling like naked ladies. Don’t touch those.” Once spoken Chance regretted the comment of the naked ladies but the lad appeared oblivious to such a thought.

“Why do they call you Chance, Mr. Wilcox?” Billy asked as his nimble hands soon filled the bucket.

“Because it is my name,”

“Da’ said you must be a quacker,”

“I think you mean Quaker, no it’s just the name my father gave me. Do you know what a Quaker is?”

Billy laughed, “I thought it was a duck.”

“It’s a sort of religion like being Catholic or Church of England or Methodist.”

“Ma’ said we are Catholic and all those from the Church of England will burn in hell.”

“Did she now?”

“Me da’ said living with ma’ is hell enough and going somewhere warm would be a holiday.”

With the bucket filled Chance carried it to the front, “do you think you can manage the bucket, it is heavy for a little fellow like you.”

“I’m nine.” Billy protested and took control of the bucket.

“Tell your mother if she wants more there are plenty but best to hurry before the possums get them,” Chance called after the lad as he struggled along the road having to stop and pick up spillage as he went.

“He’s a freckly little fella’,” Logan mentioned arriving as the lad departed.

“Nice red hair, I reckon he’s going to be a stunner in a dozen years or so.”

“You were always partial to red hair Mr. Wilcox.”

“Do you remember Wayne Gosford from the farm out at the two mile?”

“I do, don’t tell me you got at him.”

“I was too young, back then I thought it was only for pissing but I was attracted to his red hair and I was jealous and asked dad why mine was so dark.”

“What did Piers have to say about that?”

“He said it was like a lucky dip, because I was younger I got whatever was left in the barrel.”

“And you accepted that?”

“It sounded feasible at the time. Then I asked what of Sam, his hair being darker than mine and he being older than me or Wayne, why didn’t Sam get red hair. Dad simply said, go and ask your mother.”

Logan gave a teasing laugh, “yes I remember Wayne Gosford alright.”

“Don’t tell me you did.”

“No but what I can tell you, we were all of twelve and just beginning to understand our sexuality. I was over at Pat Henry’s place down past the brewery, there were five of us. Pat Henry, his older brother Sid and a couple of others from the town, if I recollect it was the Simpson kid and some cousin of his up from Sydney. It was Sid Henry who suggested we do it.”

“You have me interested – go on,” Chance said.

“Well we all lay down in a row behind the machinery at the back of the Henry shed, our pants to our knees and had your redheaded mate do us.”

“Do what,”

“It was only a quick tug and Sid was the only one to shoot, the rest of us were still dry but it was fun.”

“Another secrete from your dark past Mr. McGregor.”

“It was harmless horseplay but as I recollect your mate Wayne seemed to enjoy doing the tugging.

“And I wasn’t invited,”

“You were staying with an aunt at the time,”

“Ah yes I remember Aunt Roslyn, my mother’s sister. Is there any more dark secrets?”

“That’s about the strength of it, as you were in most of the others.”

“Most of the others?”

“Telling you everything would give you a big head.”

“I’m getting a big head just thinking of it.”

Logan looked down and noticed the rise in Chance’s trousers.

“Work to do, I’ll attend to that later.”

Early Wednesday morning and a crowd of thousands gathered at the station which had only been completed the previous week and still held the appearance of a building site. Even so the unfinished quality could not distract from the Victorian grandeur of the structure, with its high clock tower and space before for at least twenty coaches and handsome cabs.

This day the parking space was holding a multitude of trestle tables decorated in red, white and blue bunting and spread with every conceivable delicacy, even two lucky dips for the children run by the local churches. At the east end of the station was that by the Church of England, the other to the west and well separated being Catholic but in general no one appeared to be bios against either. As for the excitement from the children that was void of interest in religion or denomination, as they eagerly tore open their dip to find much of nothing for their penny.

A little further along was Margaret Cannan, Billy’s mother’s lemonade stand and in passing young Billy approached with two pots of lemonade, “they are usually a penny,” Billy said as he passed on the drinks, “but to you and Logan they are free.” Chance withdrew a sixpenny piece from his pocket, “there you go Billy think it payment for picking the lemons.”

Billy’s eyes opened wide as he quickly ran to his mother with his prize. She accepted the shiny coin and with a smile nodded her gratitude.

The boys were in time to witness the mayor of Ballarat arrived in his fancy coach, also decked out in bunting as it parked in prime position at the entrance. With the mayor was Peter Lalor now the speaker in the Assembly and looking most regal in his dark suit and top hat and sash, although the loss of his left arm from the injury received during the rebellion was a constant reminder of things previous.

Stepping down from the mayoral coach Peter spied the boys and gave a gentle nod in recognition, he then followed the mayor onto the platform.

“When is it to arrive?” Chance asked.

“Eleven thirty,”

Chance glanced up to the clock high above his head, “it’s gone three.”

Logan released a gentle laugh,” “the clock hasn’t been made ready yet.”

“I know that, it was but jest.”

“I heard someone say it will be a little late as there was a breakdown somewhere near Ballan.” Logan said then spying a lucky dip he pointed; “there you go Chance, there is your opportunity to get red hair.”

“Funny fella’.”

Eleven thirty had long passed when a murmur lifted from the crowd as it surged forward to reach the platform but was quickly prevented by a line of policemen. Although the boys hadn’t made the forward decision they were brought along by the power of the crowd and found themselves towards the front. At that moment they were once again spied by Peter Lalor who had a word with one of the officers and gave permission for the boys to join the party on the platform.

Eventually a hush came over the waiting crowd as far to the east belching smoke could be seen rising above the rooftops and the sound of escaping steam reached their ears.

A gushing lifted as one from the crowd.

“It’s coming,” one called and again the crowd surged forward, placing much pressure on the line of police officers. The line held as the black steaming monster approached the station. First to be noticed was the locomotive, big, dark and bursting with energy, followed by what appeared to be a goods van and then three carriages with at the rear a guard’s break van.

To the crowd the spectacle was new and exciting but the boys had already been introduced to rail, even if at the time it had been quite primitive. This train pulled carriages that were closed to the weather and had windows, from where poked the heads of dignitaries as they generously waved to those waiting.

“That isn’t the engine we saw.” Chance said while spying the registration number on the front of the locomotive. This one is R-356, ours was R-328 and this has better carriages as well.”

“They do have more than one engine,” Logan informed.

Chance immediately corrected his thought; “suppose there would have to be, seeing there are now services to Geelong, outer suburbs and soon to Bendigo.”

The train reached the station and came to halt with a loud hissing of steam, it tooted three times and the crowd cheered, so it gave three more toots for good measure, then the carriage doors swung open and emptied most of the members of the Victorian Parliament onto the platform.

After the obligatory handshaking of dignitaries, came the speeches on how the iron road had joined together two great cities of the colony in equal friendship. More speeches and backslapping then with a wave of hats and a cheer from the crowd the dignitaries were whisked away in the waiting coaches to a function at the town hall.

“Have you changed your opinion on progress?” Logan asked.

“A little but – ,”

“Ah the obligatory but;”

“I still like the slow and easy way,” Chance admitted.

“You mean the rough, dusty and uncomfortable.”

“Have you seen enough?” Chance asked as he prepared to move away from the platform.

“Yea let’s go.”

As the boys departed they were approached by a gentleman in a tailored suit, gold chain and top hat. “Excuse my boldness gentlemen but are you two the proprietors of the Golden Shovel?”

“That is so,” Logan cautiously answered.

“I have seen your hotel and have a proposition for you.”

“What would that be?”

“Forgive me for not introducing first but I am Mr. George Nipper shipping agent, and have what you may call a modest chain of hotels in Melbourne, and am interested in developing further here also in Bendigo,”

“What is your interest in the Shovel?” Logan asked.

“I wish to put an offer to you.”

“It’s not for sale,” Chance quickly answered, the hotelier glanced towards Logan.

“If Mr. Wilcox says it’s isn’t for sale, then sir I am sorry but I must agree.”

“Very well but please accept my card and if there is a change of mind then be sure contact me first,” the man tipped his hat and bid good morning and returned to a waiting coach to take him to the function at the town hall.

“What do you think of that?” Chance asked as they moved away from the parking area.

“Do you wish to sell?”

“No,” Chance quickly answered.

“Then that is also what I think of it.”

Chance appeared to be uncertain with Logan’s answer.

“You hesitate?” Logan asked.

“Not at all,”

“You would say if you wanted a change?”

“I would I promise but I don’t.”

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