The phone rang “Bill here, where are you?” “About 100 kilometers from Alice Springs, I said. “A bit late aren’t you? Should be there by now. Not a very safe place that. Been a bit of trouble up there. Where are you staying?” asked my concerned friend Bill. “Same place,” I said “MacDonnell Ranges Caravan Park. I’ll be safe there.” “Are you booked in or is it another one of those: I will find a place when I get there?” “Na”, I said. “Jess rang ahead. Got a place organised. Code for the gate key on my phone.” “You be careful up there. I hear things are a bit rough.”
And so we arrived in Alice Springs at 5.15pm in front of a large six foot high metal gate. Leaving the ute, I wandered over to a safe deposit box, found the text message on my phone, put in the numbers in the key card on the safe deposit box. I opened the safe and found my name amongst about 15 envelopes. Mmm, I am not the latest. Still daylight. Not sure what Bill was so fussed about. Back in the ute, I drove up to the gate, pressed in the code, and the heavy iron gate rolled back to allow us to enter in. The gate closed behind me. The large park full. Our site found.
Our campsite, protected alongside a camp kitchen next to a toilet and shower block. Perfect I thought. Then, on looking around, I wondered. “Do you reckon the Tvan, tent, and swag will fit on this small camp site?” I asked Jess. “Yeah, I reckon so,” said Jess after a quick look around. I backed the Tvan in guided by Jess and unhooked. We unpacked the swag and tent and laid them out on the ground. “Where are going to put our table?” Joan asked. After a bit of rearranging, all were happy with the site, be it a bit crowded.
Next morning, life was slow. Jess had been scouting out the park. She wandered back. “There’s a van selling strawberries with cream or ice cream. Sounds like a great idea for sweets tonight.” was her comment. Her eyes said the rest. Breakfast over, we decided to drive out west of Alice Springs to Hermannsburg, once a Lutheran Mission. Leaving the caravan park, we drove into town through Heavy Tree Gap. Two young aboriginal men walked along the railway line as it wound its way through the gap. The Todd River, dry, empty, sharing the gap with the train and roadway.
Leaving town, we drove along a sealed road. A line of hills, emerged on our left. White ghost gums appear as though freshly painted, dotted along the way to give a hint of an emerging beauty in this dry desert place. Aboriginal people have walked these slopes, hunted kangaroo, gathered food, moving from one water hole to another. This landscape is ever changing, yet always has been. I search for a wisp of smoke from a campfire, look for signs of a track made by many feet; a hunter camouflaged stalking game. From this ribbon of tar, I see none of these. Yet they exist within my imagination. For this landscape is unchanged from when it was born.
Then I see a sign pointing to a memorial atop a rise. We pull in, curious. Before us is a small plain that rises into low hills dotted with small bushes and stunted trees. In the distance scattered ghost gums, standing tall, prominent, like guardians of this country. For this is their country. They are the giants of this dry land. Nearby is a ribbon of yellow sand winding its way across the plain. Its path traced by trees acting as sentinels guarding this ribbon of sand. We call it the Finke River as it winds its way south.
In the distance, a signpost. Back on the road we enter Hermannsburg. Once a Mission, it is now managed by the aboriginal people. A World Heritage site. We drive in past a row of newly constructed housing stepped out along a street on our right, the petrol station and store to our left. Turning left, we drive past homes, a school, to the site of the old Lutheran Mission. Leaving our ute, we enter this quiet place. Time for a coffee I suggested as we enter an old white mud brick building. A wide veranda stretches across the front of the building. The old mission buildings form a rough circle the size of the MCG. The close-knit mission community lived and worked within this circle of buildings around their church. A tannery, blacksmith shop, bakery, school, butcher, saddlery, a kitchen garden. All buildings painted white, of mud brick design. At the front of the church a bell standing tall, silent, a rope attached to the bell elevated on a metal tower. Scattered around were large gum trees. The banks of the Finke River nearby, the source of life for this community.
In the stillness of this place, we wander, explore and read of its history, its loneliness, recorded through diaries of the early missionaries. They established the mission through a government grant of land back in 1877. Initially, a sheep station, later cattle were introduced. The missionaries studied the language of the Arranta people, speaking and recording the language.
Arriving back in Alice Springs, we parked our ute and walk through a small arcade. There was a food court and a collection of shops. I was surprised to see many shops closed. Now, almost a ghost building with lots of empty spaces.
Leaving the arcade, we walked out onto Todd Mall. A narrow one-way street in the heart of old Alice Springs. Once a bustling place with lots of small shops and cafés. Now quiet. As we walked down the Mall looking for a coffee an old aboriginal man sat on a chair his elbows on the table holding up his head. “Looking for a coffee mate?” he asked me. “Yeah” I said. “There’s a good one here,” he said as he pointed to a café behind. “Or another over there on the corner of that lane and the Mall. Others further down there” he said waving his hand down the Mall.
“Who do you follow in the AFL?” I asked. He slowly slid his peek cap back to reveal his close-cropped white hair. He pointed to his hair. “Who do you think I barrack for?” he said. His face broke into a wide smile. His eyes laughing. “Why, I don’t know.” I said. “You don’t know.” he came back with. “You not doing too well today.” he said, his face alive. “Then he slowly pointed to himself. “Black man white hair. Surely you can get my footy team right.” I shook my head.
“Why man, what club has the black and white colors in Melbourne,” he asked. “Collingwood of course,” then laughed. “You not so smart.” he said as we together had a good laugh. “Who do you barrack for” he asked. “Geelong,” I said. He smiled.
“You’ll find a café down there” pointing with his hand. We found a café, had a coffee, Jess a thick shake with mixed berries.
We wandered back up the Mall, calling into the occasional shop. Past the John Flynn Church, its op shop and Adelaide House, the original hospital in Alice Springs. It made a contrasting image, with green grass, open space, aboriginal people sitting around displaying their paintings. An oasis with old, well-maintained buildings within a Mall where much has changed. It was time to get Jess out to the airport for her return to Melbourne. As we walked back up the Mall, I looked for my Collinwood supporter. He was nowhere to be seen. I was disappointed. I would have liked another conversation with him.
That night, I pondered on my day’s experience. I could have driven past Alice Springs because it is seen as an unsafe place. Then, a chance conversation with an old man would not have happened. To be locked away in a caravan park I understand. However, it can rob us of a much deeper understanding of who we are. At times it can be risky. Perhaps we in the church are guilty of being locked away in our own world. Perhaps we are asking people to come join us because of who we are, not because of who they are.
Ken