One of the First and Some of the Oldest

The young possum sat with nervous excitement on the edge of the branch, looking down at the roof. The older possum beside him, started massaging the youngun’s shoulders, then held a towel and mopped the young possum’s brow.

“This is what you’ve been training for son. It all comes down to this. I know you’ve got it in you.”

The young possum stood, a steely determination in his eye. Then, with a vertical leap, he dipped forward, spreading arms and legs wide in a graceful swan dive and dropped with speed towards the roof.

BANG!! He landed with an almighty crash and knew he’d nailed the landing. For good measure, he dragged his claws across the roof in a SCRAAAAATCH and looked up with a grin at the older possum. The old possum looked down, wiping a tear from his eye, “I’m so proud of you son,” sniff, sniff, “so proud.”

At least that’s what I imagined happened at 3:30 this morning. I’d already had a hard time getting any sleep because it was so hot and just when I’d felt slumber finally grab hold of me, my eyes jumped open and my heart pounded with the sound of the crashing and scratching noise from outside. Darn possums jumping on the roof like it’s some Olympic event! There were probably possums in the trees holding up score cards! Well, I gave them a big fat zero, for leaving me waking up bleary eyed and knackered from no sleep! 

Despite the early morning shenanigans above us, we were ready for another day. The sun was shining again and after yesterday’s mercury nudging 30C, this morning it was already 20C at 8:30, so it was going to be another warm one. We headed towards The Salmon Ponds for a stroll through the gardens. “It’s very English,” commented Steve. Yes, it was. More park than garden, but nice paths under the trees, salmon and trout swimming in the ponds and apparently platypus in the river at the bottom of the garden. We stood on platypus watch for a while, but alas still no sighting. Having joined the flat cap brigade, Steve at least had the appropriate head wear for a stroll through an English inspired garden. What wasn’t quite so English were the couple of signs posted around the garden alerting visitors to be on the look out for snakes, in case one was also enjoying the sun in the garden and got in the way of a descending foot. You wouldn’t find that in Hyde Park!

We were heading further south and before leaving the New Norfolk area, took a short detour to Lawitta Cemetery to find the headstone of Betty King, formerly Elizabeth Thackery. Betty was a convict on the First Fleet and is said to have been the first ashore at Botany Bay, hence the claim to fame inscribed on her headstone of “the first white woman to set foot in Australia.” The simple, weathered and time worn headstone stood on the edge of the small and slightly ragged cemetery and was another interesting piece of history with a story to tell.

On we motored and swung through the little historic village of Richmond. I have been to Richmond a couple of times, but never to actually stroll around, so we decided to take the time for a Richmond roam. It is a lovely little village, but it was absolutely teeming with people. The streets, cafes and speciality shops were overflowing with tourists and bus loads of tour groups. “It’s a bit like being in the Cotswolds,” I commented to Steve. A combination of the lovely old buildings in golden sandstone, with a Jane Austen look about them and with people everywhere, it did remind me of roaming quaint little Cotswold villages that were charming but chokkers with people like us having a wander and a sticky beak. We roamed around, past the historic jail which is the oldest intact jail in Australia, then past the post office, which opened in 1832 and then down to the historic, convict built Richmond Bridge which is Australia’s oldest bridge still in use. So, it’s a small place, with some historic claims to fame of the “oldest” variety. 

A day of history continued to beckon, so we continued on, heading to the Tasman Peninsula and on to Port Arthur. As we motored on, we passed a sign pointing to the “Tessellated Pavement”. 

“We’d better go and have a look at that,” I said, “it might be like the Giant’s Causeway.” We’d visited the Giant’s Causeway in Northern Ireland after multiple people told us it was a must-see. Did little old Tassie have a similarly remarkable natural wonder? We found the spot, parked and walked down the path to the water and the tessellated rocks on its edge. 

“Hmmm, is that it?” I asked Steve as we walked onto the rocks. 

“Yep,” came the reply.

“It’s just rocks…that are rectangles… that happen to fit together and tessellate,” I said with snooty criticism. Indeed, there weren’t the interesting shapes of the Giants Causeway, but to be fair, they were rocks and they did tessellate, so they did do what it said on the tin, so to speak. Enough of my unfair comparison! It was still a nice spot and I guess the rocks were interesting…as rocks go. 

Detour done, we ventured on and eventually swung into the Port Arthur Historic Site, a World Heritage listed site, with the remains of the Port Arthur convict settlement, that was established to house the most hardened and incorrigible convicts, back in the 1800’s. The temperature had dropped about 10 degrees down there, so on went the layers and we braced ourselves against the blustery wind and set off to explore. First, was a harbour cruise around the waters off the edge of the settlement and past small islands that held convict cemeteries. 

Back on dry land we roamed around the site, which is a huge area. We walked through the main penitentiary building at the centre of the site and also through the “separate prison”, sitting further up the hill. This was where inmates were not allowed to make any sound or communicate at all. No talking, no gestures and they were not allowed a name, being addressed only by a number. Even the wardens were instructed to communicate with each other using signals, so as not to talk and the whole building had to be kept in total silence. Like the cells in the penitentiary building, the space for each inmate was claustrophobically tiny. I can see why those who attempted to escape, gave it a go, because they suffered such harsh treatment at the prison, yet could look out at all those trees and space, just across the water or just over the hill. 

The grounds were lovely, with wide open lawns and gardens and plenty of historic buildings and ruins to walk through and plaques with snippets of history to read. A peaceful and interesting spot today, a place of horror and cruelty in the past for the convict residents and another form of horror and cruelty in the dispossession of the first inhabitants. A place of many stories from Tasmania’s dark past, but these days full of interested visitors strolling the vast grounds and learning a little more about the history of this small island.

Our digs were just up the road, so we tootled up to our pit stop, as a few spatters of rain hit the windscreen. We’d done some roaming, we’d made some detours, seen some sights and learned some stories. Another good day exploring our own state of Tassie again and even had the classic experience of summer in Tasmania…wearing a polar fleece. You have to love this place. Tassie is like Forrest Gump’s box of chocolates…you never know what you’re going to get! Now I’m just hoping for a decent night’s sleep and hoping the possums in this area are into peaceful synchronised swimming and not swan diving and body slamming. Aaaaah, I dunno…you never know what you’re gonna get!