Chapter 15

I'd phoned Diana and confirmed for Saturday morning. She'd spoken with her parents, who were eager to meet me – just what I was most afraid of. We had our PR meeting at the museum and I was glad that I wasn't involved in regular meetings with twits. I spoke to Winnie and told her, again, that I'd be in the outback for the weekend.

I was waiting for Diana a bit past eight on a warm Sydney Saturday. I'd filled the fuel and checked the coolant. I'd also brought four bottles of water. I had a few clothes and my toiletries in a back pack. I also had a map and my <i>Collected Verse</i> of Banjo Paterson.

We had a pleasant drive to Yass, where I turned north on 81.

"Where are you going?" "Just a bit up here. To Boorowa." "There's nothing these. Just a few run-down stations." "Right. But one of them was Illalong, where Banjo lived as a child." "Okay. You mentioned him before." "Paterson was a bush poet. Maybe our most famous one. I'm interested in seeing the country that inspired him." Diana sighed, but didn't push. We came to a road on the left.

"That goes down to Binalong," she said.

"Great! We'll go back that way." There was a signpost pointing toward Rye Park, to the east. "Okay, I'll turn about and we'll get on to Binalong." There were a few dirt tracks off the Boorowa-Binalong road, but nothing much. Then there was a stretch with more vegetation. I pulled over and stopped.

"Just stay there for a moment." I walked back. There was a rather large scorpion with her scorplings on her back. I wished I'd brought my collection pack. This was a good lesson. I got back into the ute.

"What was that?" "A scorpion and her litter." "And you just left her?" "I've no way to collect them. I wish I did." "No, I meant stomp them!" "Why? There are thousands more within a few dozen metres." "You're joking!" "Not at all. She wasn't threatening us." The road curved to the right.

"Go off onto Queen Street. It's the next turning to the right." I did. "And now the left onto 94 – Stephens Street. The Swan is on your right." It was. I parked on the side of the inn. Diana got out and shouted: "Hoo-ee!" A somewhat stout woman can out and gave her a big hug.

"Mum, this is Gordy. Gordy, Mum." "How do you do, Mrs. Prince?" "Oh, aren't you elegant! C'mon in. Bring your tackle. Di'll show you where to sling it." That set the tone for the weekend. Mr. Prince was a thin, tired man. He was more interested in food and such than in anything else. He said he was considering selling up – developers were interested.

"Because of Banjo?" I asked.

"Yes. There was a movie and now folks are more interested in him. We read some of his poems when I was at school." "Most likely sang at least one." "Eh?" "Banjo Paterson wrote 'Waltzing Mathilda'." "Garn!," Mrs. Prince added.

"No, really. I brought the poems with me. I'll show you it later." We washed up and had lunch. Really good lunch.

"There's no lunch business on a Saturday, so I merely set up a cold meal. I hope you don't mind." "Not at all, sir. This is the tastiest cold joint I've had since I left home." "And where might that be?" "Queensland. A bit west of Roma. My Dad has a small station. Largely beef cattle, but a few dozen sheep for the kitchen." "Small?" "About 30,000 acres." "Will you live there?" "I doubt it. I'm working on a postgraduate degree in entomology. I suppose I'll try for a post with the CSIRO." "Gordy's part-time at the Australian Museum," Diana added.

"I was interested in this area – because of Banjo – and Diana mentioned she was from here." "You read much poetry?" "Probably not as much as I ought." "I was never able to keep track what it was about. Rum-tum-tum, rum-tum-tum. Finding rhymes. Bloom/tune/croon/June." I was at a loss. Mrs. Prince was cheery, but not a bit an intellectual.

After lunch, Diana said she was going to walk me about town. I offered to help with the dishes, but was greeted with a laugh. "This is a restaurant, lad. I've staff that do that. Go stroll with the lass." When we were standing in front of the Swan, I asked Diana: "Do you know an old cemetery around?" "No. Why?" "Banjo's father's buried in the old cemetery here. Also a well-known robber whose name I've forgotten." "How do you know this stuff?" "I found it interesting. After all, Banjo Paterson is Australia's most famous poet of the Outback. And though he wasn't born here, he went to school here. And he mentions the area in some of his poems. Like 'Old Pardon, the Son of Reprieve'." "Are you kidding?" "No. It's about a racehorse. And a railroad station?" "That's on the road to Yass. Only tourists go there. Let's look at the town." The town was quite small. A sign told me there were 600 inhabitants. That was about half the size of Mitchell. But there were few people visible. I remarked on it.