Chapter 20

The shadows were lengthening as we drove down Grenfell's Main Street.

"Stop there!" Winnie said, pointing. "Craft Shop and Visitors Centre" the sign read. I parked, we went in. I knew better than to say anything.

"We're off on a weekend trip," Winnie said. "Is there a nice place for us to spend the night? And have a good meal?"

"Of course, dearie. Might that be your bloke?" I carefully scrutinized a map on the wall.

"Yes, he is."

"Strong, silent type?"

"Mmm."

"Well, I should boost the Motel. And there are five hotels along Main Street. We're number 68 here. The Motel's 84. That should give you a notion. Now, as to food. I'm told the Albion Hotel, that's 118, has fine food. They're right on the street so you can see what's going on. Here's a map. Oh, the Motel serves a nice breakfast."

"Thank you. Gordy, how about we stay at the Motel, dine at the Albion, and breakfast at the Motel?"

"Fine, dear. Did you ask about the obelisk?"

"Oh, is he interested in Lawson? You come by in the morning and I'll tell you how to get there."

The Emu Creek diggings are long gone and in their place are the local sports fields. Clearly signposted off the road to Young (to the south of the town) is a large obelisk which is located where Peter Larsen (Henry's father) had his bush tent. Henry Lawson was born here on 17 June 1867.

I registered us at the Motel and dumped our baggage in the room.

"Want to wash up?"

"You first, you're quicker." So I bathed and while Winnie was washing up I located a clean shirt. Then I sat down with Banjo's poems. When she came out towelling her hair, but undressed, I realized again just how nice-looking she was.

"Want to waste time before dinner?" she asked. I put down my book, got up and kissed her. "More."

It was nearly an hour before we walked to the Albion. It was cool when we got back to the Motel after a satisfying Australian meal. We both read a bit before going to sleep in one another's arms. It was very nice.

In the morning we performed our ablutions, ate enormous breakfasts, and walked to the Visitors Centre. Winnie thank our guide excessively and she, in turn, told us how to get to the obelisk. I purchased two copies of "The Drover's Wife" with Drysdale's painting on the cover and several post cards. We got into the 4x4 and refilled the petrol at the BP. We then followed instructions and soon found ourselves in a small park where a path terminated at the obelisk. Winnie read the two inscriptions aloud and I tried to imagine a tent city (tent village?) with blokes dying and babies being born. Little more than a century ago.

"Interested in the outlaws, too?" Winnie asked.

"No. No bushrangers for me. Sorry. Let's see if we can get to Young and then Boorowa. You've got a real chore today. I'll drive, you navigate. We're not going to be on highways. But we've got a full tank."

"That's fine, but pull up there," she pointed. It was a roadside market and we obtained four bottles of water, some chocolate bars and three rather wilted apples.

"Smart girl," said as we resumed our journey.

"Thank you, sir," she smirked. "Anyway, this road should get us to Young – Henry Lawson Way all the way."

"Really?"

"Really. Not a bee-line, but direct. About 45 or 50 kilometers."

"Not bad."

"Then we turn left. Looks like it's called Murringo Road."

"Okay. Never heard of Murringo."

"Well, we're going through it."

The historic village of Murringo lies some 24 kilometres due east of Young where the Boorowa Road drops gently to a well-watered valley. First settled in 1827, it was one of the earliest settlements west of the Great Dividing Range and the buildings that remain are a realistic reminder of those days. After Surveyor Larmer's visit of 1849 Murringo, then known as Marengo, was gazetted as a village in 1850 and a surveyed plan drawn up for its future growth.

We did. There were a few older buildings visible, but no restaurant or cafe.

"Look for Murringo Gap Road, it goes to Boorowa."

"There."

"Make the right turn." I did. There was a ute and a farm wagon going north. They were the first vehicles we'd seen since Young. "What do you say we make a rest stop in a klick or two?"

"My bladder will love you."