going, and she certainly didnât envisage staying very long. This was just a reconnaissance to satisfy her curiosity, her need to return to the outback just once more to see if she could pick up the pieces of her old life again.
With a last wave to Diane, she stepped up into the old diesel train and found her seat in economy. Thrift was a habit, and her cheap seat meant she would have to sit all the way through the journey and not take advantage of the luxury sleeping compartments. Yet she felt at ease with that decision. It would give her a chance to meet and talk to the other passengers then perhaps she wouldnât feel quite so alone.
As the train pulled slowly out of the station, she experienced a twist of excitement. What would Churinga be like â and would she still feel the same way about the outback as she had as a child? She was more sophisticated now, older and hopefully wiser, soft from the years in the city with its air conditioning, shops, abundant water and cool, leafy parks.
Sydney slid by the window and she stared out at the suburbs. The old Holden would never have stood the journey, she was glad sheâd chosen the train. Yet, as everything familiar began to fade into the distance, she wished Diane was beside her.
The train made regal progress out of the city and into the Blue Mountains. To Jenny it was like a majestic and magical picture book, spread before her in breathtaking panorama. Great, steep-sided gorges spilled waterfalls into wooded blue-green valleys. Jagged rocks, softened by the blue haze of eucalyptus oil, formed pinnacles which stretched endlessly into the distance and shimmered on the horizon. A scattering of holiday cabins peeked from between the trees and small settlements of older houses huddled on steep-sided plateaux, but nothing could mar the beauty of this awesome sight.
The tourist cameras were out, clicking and whirring beneath the excited chatter of the other passengers. Jenny furiously regretted not having brought her own, but as the miles of mountain track meandered on and on, she knew this scenery would be forever implanted in her memory.
Several hours later they had left one range of mountains for another. Passing through Lithgow, Bathurst and Orange, the train swept through the Herveys Range and on to Gondobolin, stopping only for a few moments to pick up passengers from dusty, remote platforms.
Jenny never tired of watching the sheep grazing this rough land which yielded only tough, yellow grass. Although the mountains had been awe-inspiring, the sight of scrubby trees and red earth touched something primal within her. A mob of kangaroos bouncing across the grasslands brought cries of delight from the others and she quietly enjoyed their pleasure in her beautiful country.
Night fell swiftly and Jenny was rocked to sleep by the whisper of the wheels on the tracks. âGoing home. Going home. Going home.â
Day came with a sky of red and orange overhanging the land, reflecting its colours in the very earth it warmed. Jenny looked out of the window as she drank her coffee. The land seemed to be ripening in the heat. How beautiful it was, how desolate and achingly lonely. Yet what powerful emotions it evoked. How bravely the trees stood under the sun, their leaves wilting, bark bleached to ghostly grey. She was falling in love with her country all over again.
Another day, another night. Through the National Reserve, past Mount Manara and Gun Lake, the miles of sparsely populated land sprawled into infinity on either side. Small hamlets and deserted pastures, tranquil lakes and silent mountains, slipped by in majestic cavalcade.
Morning again, and Jennyâs neck and back were stiff from sitting so long. Sleep had come fleetingly as her destination drew nearer, and sheâd spent most of the night playing cards and drinking beer with a group of young English backpackers. The train slowed as it reached the desert oasis that was Broken Hill. The gauge
With a last wave to Diane, she stepped up into the old diesel train and found her seat in economy. Thrift was a habit, and her cheap seat meant she would have to sit all the way through the journey and not take advantage of the luxury sleeping compartments. Yet she felt at ease with that decision. It would give her a chance to meet and talk to the other passengers then perhaps she wouldnât feel quite so alone.
As the train pulled slowly out of the station, she experienced a twist of excitement. What would Churinga be like â and would she still feel the same way about the outback as she had as a child? She was more sophisticated now, older and hopefully wiser, soft from the years in the city with its air conditioning, shops, abundant water and cool, leafy parks.
Sydney slid by the window and she stared out at the suburbs. The old Holden would never have stood the journey, she was glad sheâd chosen the train. Yet, as everything familiar began to fade into the distance, she wished Diane was beside her.
The train made regal progress out of the city and into the Blue Mountains. To Jenny it was like a majestic and magical picture book, spread before her in breathtaking panorama. Great, steep-sided gorges spilled waterfalls into wooded blue-green valleys. Jagged rocks, softened by the blue haze of eucalyptus oil, formed pinnacles which stretched endlessly into the distance and shimmered on the horizon. A scattering of holiday cabins peeked from between the trees and small settlements of older houses huddled on steep-sided plateaux, but nothing could mar the beauty of this awesome sight.
The tourist cameras were out, clicking and whirring beneath the excited chatter of the other passengers. Jenny furiously regretted not having brought her own, but as the miles of mountain track meandered on and on, she knew this scenery would be forever implanted in her memory.
Several hours later they had left one range of mountains for another. Passing through Lithgow, Bathurst and Orange, the train swept through the Herveys Range and on to Gondobolin, stopping only for a few moments to pick up passengers from dusty, remote platforms.
Jenny never tired of watching the sheep grazing this rough land which yielded only tough, yellow grass. Although the mountains had been awe-inspiring, the sight of scrubby trees and red earth touched something primal within her. A mob of kangaroos bouncing across the grasslands brought cries of delight from the others and she quietly enjoyed their pleasure in her beautiful country.
Night fell swiftly and Jenny was rocked to sleep by the whisper of the wheels on the tracks. âGoing home. Going home. Going home.â
Day came with a sky of red and orange overhanging the land, reflecting its colours in the very earth it warmed. Jenny looked out of the window as she drank her coffee. The land seemed to be ripening in the heat. How beautiful it was, how desolate and achingly lonely. Yet what powerful emotions it evoked. How bravely the trees stood under the sun, their leaves wilting, bark bleached to ghostly grey. She was falling in love with her country all over again.
Another day, another night. Through the National Reserve, past Mount Manara and Gun Lake, the miles of sparsely populated land sprawled into infinity on either side. Small hamlets and deserted pastures, tranquil lakes and silent mountains, slipped by in majestic cavalcade.
Morning again, and Jennyâs neck and back were stiff from sitting so long. Sleep had come fleetingly as her destination drew nearer, and sheâd spent most of the night playing cards and drinking beer with a group of young English backpackers. The train slowed as it reached the desert oasis that was Broken Hill. The gauge
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