"Up the Mountain" at Christmas

“Up the Mountain” at Christmas

(Thoughts triggered from a chat with Pam) It is on the top of the Broken Back Range, this place we town cousins all know as “Up the Mountain”, in fact it is on the watershed where the rain that falls to the north of the ridge flows down Foxy Gully or Muggyrang and on into Pokolbin Creek. That which falls to the south flows down Flying Fox Creek to the west and south and into Wollombi Brook. This is the line that separates the Wollombi from Pokolbin. This watershed runs right through Myrtledale where our Grandparents lived when we were children. We were not aware of any of the geographical or topographical facts back then, it was just “Up the Mountain”, where we so often went, stayed, played and generally enjoyed an innocent life under the loving care of our Grandmother and were able to tag along with our Grandfather on his daily activities. All was done while the work went on and as much as possible we were engaged in the work from quite a young age, although we never thought of it as work. Bringing home a cow with a new calf or washing out the bails after milking, collecting the eggs, we learned to roll them into threes in newspaper and pack them in shoe boxes for sale in town. We learned to count the coins and roll them in the special brown paper with the end cut off at an angle supplied by the bank. It was all work but it was never thought of that way. Come to think of it there was very little activity that was not work. Except at Christmas time! Christmas time was rather special “Up the Mountain”, much preparation was done, the Bunk House had to be cleaned out, the decorations made from crepe paper and coloured paper ribbon. I liked the wide ribbon that you learned to fold and twist together to make streamers that were hung across the kitchen. Of course a suitable tree had to be found, cut and placed in the Bunk House, and decorated. Grandma had a present for everyone all placed under the tree. The Bunk House and the big fig tree were things that stood out. They were things that were just special to our Grandparents place. It was said that Grandfather’s brother, Uncle Ernie, had brought the fig tree down from Queensland one Christmas about 1900 and planted it behind the old house, it was and still is a Morten Bay Fig. We children had no idea of the old house but our mothers sure did they were brought up in it with its separate kitchen. They always built the kitchen separate so that if it caught fire the house would not burn down. Well you know the kitchen never burnt down but Grandma wanted a new kitchen and so it was that the old kitchen became the Bunk House. The boys who worked on, lived on the farm and slept there and there were in fact a couple of old iron framed beds still in the Bunk House. I was to learn much later in life that the fireplace was removed so that the boys did not burn the place down. The Bunk House had the inside walls papered with old newspapers and a little veranda with cupboards full of preserves that Grandma made from the seasonal fruit. Blackberries were my favourite. The fig tree spread its branches wide and provided ample shade with nooks between its roots for cubby houses and a swing hung from the lower branches. The old bullock wagon, no longer used, was parked under the fig tree in its final resting place. Many happy hours were spent out under the fig tree. Oh what a ramble this is. Back to Christmas, the extended family would arrive as Christmas approached Aunty Ida and Uncle Eddy, with his violin, the Burkes were the musical side of the family. Aunty Alice and Ron, they would be down from Narrabri, oh, that’s where Uncle Ernie went before he went to Queensland but that is a whole other story. Then on Christmas Day Uncle Freddy and Aunty Etty would arrive and who knows who else would call in. I had eight cousins on Mum’s side and there were five of us. Eight of us were town cousins and the rest lived on the farm, my two Uncle’s children. That made 23 of us who were the immediate family, at least it got to that number by the late 1950’s where my memories are most vivid. I don’t know where we all slept but Christmas morning would see socks full of presents left by Santa, they were real woollen socks that were worn by Grandfather and knitted by Grandma. I think she must have knitted new ones through each winter as they had no holes, not even darned holes. First light and Grandfather would walk along the veranda to the kitchen for a cuppa tea from the thermos that Grandma had set the night before, he was then off to catch the horse, yes Snippy, and bring the cows in for milking. Grandfather walking along the veranda was a signal, why did he stop half way along? He always did. Anyway after Grandfather had left to catch Snippy it was time to explore what Santa had brought. “You kids get back to bed, it’s too early” Grandma’s sleepy voice called from her bedroom. Better be quite or she will get up and that would not be good. Although Grandma could never be really cross with us. Christmas Day but the milking still had to be done, twice, morning and afternoon. The afternoon milking was always pretty easy, all the men, I think except Grandfather, Dad my uncles and all other men of the extended family would be off to the milking bails as soon as Christmas Lunch was over. Obviously all the women had a big clean up to do but I was quite oblivious to that, toys and cousins occupied my time. Occasionally I observed Grandfather take a visitor along the veranda and around the corner. I realised later that although drinking was never part of life on the mountain at Christmas time Grandfather had a bottle of wine so that selected visitors could have a drink. It was very discreetly done. Late in the afternoon all the cars that had assembled during the morning would start to move off one after the other, almost a precession down the three kilometres of mountain road down to the foot. I don’t really remember when we went home, back to town but surely we had tea first as by the time we got home we kids would be asleep. What thoughts, what pleasant reminisces, what a gathering for Christmas. That was the 1950’s Grandma and Grandfather had only four children. What was it like the generation before? Our Great Grandparents who selected and developed this place from virgin bushland had 13 children and my mother and Aunty had 60 cousins. The assembly would have arrived on horse or horse drawn carriages and on foot. The Bunk House was the kitchen and the fig tree was only a seedling. Lindsay Threadgate December 2016