Chapter 22: Nannup and the endless blue sky
As we drive towards Manjimup, the major town of the south-west region of Western Australia, the clouds begin to break up. Before long, they’re few and far between. By the time we park for lunch, there is not a cloud in sight, the sun shines brightly and we feel its heat start to warm our skins.
Only two hours north from Walpole and it is an entirely different — and better — day.
When we were kids, towns like Manjimup, Nannup, Bridgetown and Boyalup were working towns. They were ramshackle and rundown, centred either on agriculture (mainly sheep and wheat) or forestry, the other major industry in the area. Back then, it was easier to buy a combine harvester than a coffee, let alone a cappuccino.
These days, considerable investment into creating and maintaining green spaces, fancy playgrounds, outdoor art, produce like olives, avocadoes and wine; and heritage trails with an eye to drawing in tourists has created lovely, quaint villages that attract artists, café owners, soap makers and those people who sell old junk and call it ‘antiques’.
Lewana Cottages
After a stop at Manjimup and ‘supervising’ the kids playing on a giant enclosed silver slide/tube that must be like sliding through a cylindrical oven, we head to our camping spot for the evening.
T found it on a website called Hip Camp that promotes privately owned properties with places that travellers can park their caravans and campervan for a small fee.
Lewana Cottages is the kind of place that cashed up newly-retired people with too much energy buy with the idea of returning it to its former glory. It’s a series of old wooden cottages with large, established, exotic trees that speak of a past life as the kind of place well-to-do Australians went when they wanted a holiday resort that looked kind of like England but with kangaroos jumping around.
As I wander around, I lament that I’m not a good fiction writer. This place has the hallmarks of some kind of murder-mystery setting. A group of friends come to stay at the rundown old property their wealthy friend has purchased on a whim. He is obsessed with returning it to its glory days when it was a hedonistic party joint of the Jazz Age. The whole place shuts down because a beautiful woman dies in mysterious circumstances. Then one of the friends turns up dead in exactly the same way! Drama ensues!
As you can tell, I’m not a good fiction writer.
It’s a little early to settle in for the evening, so we drive out to one of the swimming holes dotted around the map. The day has grown warm and there is nothing better than refreshing yourself in fresh water.
Donnolly River Village
The next morning, I marvel at how all our wet swimming gear and towels have miraculously dried overnight. It wasn’t even that warm! The dry air did its magic.
The day is again shaping up clear and blue. This is the first time in five weeks we’ve had two blue sky days in a row. This is how the whole trip was supposed to be, not the exception.
We drive in to Nannup so that T, who likes a bit of sculpture, can do the walking tour of local sculptures. We all trail along after him, even though we did the tour six months ago when we here last.
The kids start complaining it’s too hot. It’s 27 degrees.
After Nannup, we head to Donnolly River Village to look at the old forestry mill there. This is the starting place of the massive hardware conglomerate, Bunnings. Founded by the Bunning brothers, the mill at its peak processed 25,000 tonnes of magnificent old growth forest. To accommodate the immigrant workers, the Brothers built very cheap and ramshackle housing that must have been freezing in winter and boiling in summer.
Today, the Donnolly River General Store is the home of a selection of tame kangaroos and emus. A few of the kangaroos let us pat them but the emus stare at us contemptuously like they’ve never met a pack of losers as pathetic as us.
After the walk around the old Village, we head down to the dam for a swim. It’s a lovely spot and with more time than yesterday, the kids gain more confidence in the water. They’re good swimmers but they’re not used to the lack of buoyancy of fresh water.
An unwelcome visitor
Although we briefly saw two small clouds in the sky, the day has once again been nothing but blue. It’s warm but not too hot, although without power to the campervan, it’s stuffy until the night breeze picks up.
I’m contentedly reading my book in bed when suddenly T says, ‘Hello! Where did you come from?’
I turn to look. A black blob with eyes is sitting on the vertical cushion that is part of the bed when it’s a lounge setting.
My first thought is that it’s a frog. I leap out of bed with a panicked, ‘what the FUCK is that?’
It’s too big to be a spider, I think with relief. ‘I think it’s a bat,’ says T.
‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ Obviously I swear a lot when I’m freaking out. ‘How did a fucking BAT get in here??’
‘I guess it just flew in,’ says T in that way he has of impatiently stating the obvious. ‘When would it have FLOWN IN?’ I reply. ‘Is it BATMAN? What the fuck?’ I must have watched too many movies because I actually said, ‘I did not sign up for this SHIT. Get it out!!’
He nudges it a little. It flies around in the tight confines of the campervan in a panic. I am screaming. T is lying crouched on the bed. The kids blissfully sleep through the entire commotion.
We open a window and try and encourage it to go out. It prefers to flap around and torment us. Then we can’t find it. ‘Where’s it gone?’ T says. I’m looking around frantically. The excitement has sent a spider running along the top of the cabinet. I loathe spiders. ‘Oh my god, there’s a spider!!’ I cry out.
T rolls his eyes at me. ‘The bat,’ he says. ‘Where is it?’ I’m looking around. Finally I spot it tucked into the folds of the tea towel hanging from a coat hanger.
‘OK,’ I tell T from the other end of the campervan. ‘Grab the coat hanger and carefully drop the tea towel out the window.’ He does what I tell him. The bat cooperates, probably grateful to be away from the screaming mad woman.
‘Then you need to get the spider out,’ I tell him. ‘I’m not going to do that,’ he replies flatly. By this time, it’s disappeared.
It took a long time to get to sleep.
