The Road to the Hermitage

Epilogue

Introduction

I was born in a small village on the East Coast of England in February 1947, during one of the coldest winters in memory. Village life in Suffolk suited me, surrounded by woods and meadows to explore and I spent a great deal of my spare time during summer school holidays working on the local farm helping out with the harvesting, milking and generally making myself useful for a few shillings a week.

After my secondary school experiences I moved to London to begin a student apprenticeship with Ford Motor Company where I became less than entranced by diverse engineering topics such as Hooke’s Law and the laminar flow theory of fluids in pipes. I managed to survive five years of this excitement before calling a halt, a decision which I think was welcomed by Ford Motor Company as much as myself.

Faced with material problems such as rent payments and the need to eat, I found myself a job with an insurance company, Phoenix Assurance, and became a trainee underwriting clerk. Talk about going from the sublime to the ridiculous! Thankfully I was saved from a lifetime of fire and accident insurance underwriting rules when I was selected to take part in an office systems training course, conducted by a firm of consultants with the lovely name of Booz-Allen and Hamilton. With a name like that, who could resist?

Six months of intensive training and I was released on the unsuspecting branch offices of Phoenix, armed with a stop watch and my copy of the Booz-Allen and Hamilton standard time measurements. A manual that is still in my possession, I hasten to add. By recording the actions of staff completing various forms, filing documents and so on, we were able to calculate, among other tasks, the standard time to write a letter, stuff it in an envelope and walk to the out-tray. Thus enriched, we could calculate the efficiency of each branch office and make recommendations on changes in procedures to improve efficiency. If the out-tray was two paces closer, then there could be a total time saving of almost 7minutes and 43 seconds a month.

To relieve the boredom of office life, my fellow organisation and methods analysts (such was our exalted title) would take ourselves to the local pub on the Strand in London most evenings. This fabled pub, called The Surrey, was the home to most of the ex-patriot Australians living in London and on a good night closely resembled what I imagine to be Bazza Mackenzie’s living room. Sadly this lively hot-spot closed down and it was on the closing night that I returned to my rented flat with a souvenired glass from the Surrey and the telephone number of an Australian girl.

One thing led to another and within a few months I had taken the decision to accompany the girl to Australia on her return where we would be married. It just happened that the Australian office of Phoenix Assurance was about to set up a new organisation and methods department in their Sydney office, so I was invited to become a founder member of this auspicious new section on my arrival in Sydney.

Over the next few years working with Phoenix Australia I was lucky enough to travel to all States in Australia on branch visits and I gradually became under the spell of that unusual country. Apart from these branch visits I also explored Central Australia in my motorised campervan home, converted from an ex-Government Ford Transit ‘bus.

Changes in my personal life situation resulting from a divorce from my Australian wife in 1988 resulted with my purchase of a small cottage in Blackheath in the Blue Mountains of New South Wales. Situated close to Govett’s Leap, Bridal Veil Falls and Pulpit Rock, this cottage was an ideal base from which to explore the many walking tracks in the Blue Mountains, an activity that I followed regularly most weekends.

However, the proximity to such beautiful natural wonders impressed not only me. On weekends the bush was overrun with hordes of tourists. All too soon my quiet retreat on a gravel road on the edge of the National Park had been invaded by tourists, the road covered with bitumen and the empty blocks of land on either side of my small parcel of paradise cleared and made ready for building. When a new house was built very close beside my house in Blackheath and the new residents moved in, complete with two small, very noisy dogs I started to think longingly about self-sufficiency and solitude.

I had been living in Blackheath for a couple of years, firstly with my then girlfriend and for the last year or so with just my dog Wal and we had enjoyed the lifestyle. Being able to work from home was a big bonus, of course, as I had no need to take the daily commuter train trip of 2 hours each way into Sydney for work. On the few occasions when I needed to go into the city for work or meetings, I could drive in as I was usually going to be late leaving the city and did not want to be dependent on quite often late running or cancelled train services.

Now, though, the peace and quiet of small village life was being eroded by tourists and in particular new houses springing up all along my previously secluded, tree lined street. It was time to make a decision that would drastically change my lifestyle.

Chapter One – The Search Begins

I had seen my privacy gradually disappearing as the blocks of land on either side of my own were cleared of trees in preparation for house building. The blocks of land in that area of the Blue Mountains are by no means large and the thought of houses close beside my own brought back memories of living in an apartment in Sydney. It was precisely the environment that I had wanted to avoid when I made the move to the Mountains.

One day I walked up to the local shops in Blackheath and on my return I discovered to my horror that a large tree had been cut down adjacent to my house. So adjacent, in fact, that in falling the tree had taken out my electricity and telephone wires and narrowly missed my house and motorcycle parked outside. Over the next few weeks my previously peaceful days were interrupted by the sounds of cement mixers, electric saws and hammering as the house next door began to take shape. This was getting to be too much!

With the house completed, my new neighbours moved in, complete with their two small dogs. They proceeded to build a small dog house and dog run almost on the boundary between our properties, in which their dogs would be forced to spend the day while they commuted to Sydney for work.

The barking of the two dogs next door one morning at 6 o’clock as the female owners left for work in Sydney was just too much. This would be the day I made a definite decision to buy Wal and myself some peace and quiet and solitude far away from so-called civilisation.

My initial thoughts on escaping the tourist invasion and neighbours were to try to buy somewhere in the Blue Mountains area with more space and privacy, but the ridiculously high house and land prices were well out of my reach and soon caused me to look further afield. A logical place to look (in my mind at least) was in the Oberon district, to the southwest, as I knew that area from previous visits to the Oberon daffodil festival and other events in and around the small town. On my travels I had frequently seen billboards in various places advertising Col Brett Real Estate of Oberon, saying things like Looking for a Farm?

I decided to spend that day looking at various real estate agencies in Oberon, in particular Col Brett’s, so after breakfast and a walk with Wal around the Blackheath Rhododendron Park, we climbed into my ancient Ford Falcon station wagon and headed west along the Great Western Highway to Oberon. I picked up various leaflets and stock listings from the main real estate agents in Oberon, along with a tourist information brochure to give me more information on the area. Those documents gave me some initial ideas of the price range, size and facilities available in the area, so armed with this information and, having done my sums, I would be able to approach the local banks to talk about my proposed purchase.

I wanted to leave my options open at this stage and my thoughts were either to retain my house at Blackheath and use the new farm as a weekend retreat from the tourists, or maybe lease out my Blackheath house to some of those weekend tourists. It all depended on whether the new farm could be made suitable for permanent living.

Armed with my brochures and copies of my personal financial details, I made an appointment to talk with my local WestPac bank in Katoomba. A little hesitantly I explained my ideas to the bank manager, expecting to get a quick rebuff, but surprisingly, the bank was quite receptive to my plans, and we quickly decided that the whole plan was a viable proposition. After some discussions we settled on a theoretical agreement on how much I could afford to spend, subject to valuations, examinations etc. The usual stuff!

In a much lighter frame of mood, I left the bank and hurried home. Now I had a budget to work to, it was time to start the serious and often frustrating task of searching for the right property.

Armed with Col Brett’s latest Looking for a Farm? brochure, I spent the week marking those properties within my budget that I thought looked promising. I very much wanted to be as independent as possible, with as much privacy as possible. I wanted to have access to water, either a farm dam or preferably river frontage and some areas of land that I could develop into a small vegetable growing area. A house of some size was not important – I didn’t want a mansion for just myself and Wal, I would rather spend my money on good land and privacy rather than a big dwelling.

The properties listed in Col Brett’s brochure were wide ranging, from empty 20 acre blocks to small farms with existing houses and developed pastures suitable for livestock and crops. One by one over the next few weeks I visited each of the possibles on my list and became more and more depressed with each one that I inspected!

Many of the properties were simply open paddocks, bare of trees and vegetation. In particular I remember looking at one property that boasted river frontage but when I went to look at it I found the river was actually a small ditch, no more than a meter wide, filled with almost stagnant water. Another property looked very promising when I first looked at it. Not far from Jenolan Caves, eighty acres of mostly native bushland, interesting rock formations and road frontage with electricity and telephone available. But no water at all, not even a dam. So another property was crossed off the list.

I became very familiar with the rivers and roads around the Oberon area over those few weeks and Col Brett’s real estate office became almost a second home at weekends! Each weekend I would check to see if any new properties had come onto the market that may be worth a visit and if so I would head out with re-kindled hopes! Week by week I became more dispirited with the tourists and noisy neighbours in Blackheath and longed to find my own little escape in the bush

At this stage I was beginning to wonder if I would ever find the right place. One last visit to Oberon, I thought, and if I can’t find something suitable then I’ll think again. Standing outside Col Brett’s window I saw yet another description of a small farm. This one mentioned river frontage, a small dam and included a Massey Ferguson tractor, trailer and various implements. I had to go and look at this! Col was somewhat reluctant to show me the property. It’s very remote he argued, thinking that he would have a wasted journey if he took me out to show me the farm. He didn’t realise that he had said the magic words!

Chapter Two – First Impressions

After I finally convinced Col that I was serious about buying somewhere with no close neighbours, where I could be ensured of my privacy, we set out in Col’s late model Toyota Landcruiser. Through Black Springs and Porters Retreat and still on bitumen roads on the main road between Oberon and Goulburn Finally we left the bitumen behind and hit the gravel and dust. Only another thirty kilometres to go remarked Col, looking sideways at me to see if I was getting dispirited yet.

The countryside grew less and less civilised and more and more to my liking as we drove past the Abercrombie Caves turn off and on into the Gurnang State Forest. We passed a sign pointing to the old abandoned mining township of Yerranderie, a popular destination for four-wheel drive vehicles. Emerging from the stands of pine and gum trees we gradually climbed a ridge with a valley on either side of us. I could see sheep grazing in some of the pastures and a few cattle here and there, but it was the views of the natural bushland stretching away to the horizon in a series of hills and valleys that held my attention.

A few kilometres further and the road dropped down in a series of tight bends and we came to a concrete causeway over a large pipe, through which a small creek was flowing. That’s a tributary to the Abercrombie River explained Col as we crossed over the causeway. In winter the water rises over the causeway and it can be difficult to cross. Across the river the road climbed again in another series of bends. At the top of the hill we turned off to the right at the sign that said Glen Road and enjoyed spectacular views as we drove the last three and a half kilometres along the dusty, corrugated track. Finally we pulled up outside the small iron farm gate with the number 369 and a No Trespassing sign attached to it. The other side of the gate a rough track led off into a mixture of native bush and pine trees.

The farm house and outbuildings were invisible from the road. I could just make out the top of a windmill over the tops of what appeared to be a plantation of immature pine trees. However, as we drove slowly through the gate and down a slight slope towards the house, the view of the valley opened up before us. I could see a small dam to the left of the pine-tree lined driveway glinting in the sunlight and a small fibro house with a gently sloping metal roof, on top of which was mounted a small solar electricity panel. The drive ended in a most impressive turning circle with a plantation of native wattle, bottle brush and grevillea bushes in the centre.

Stepping out of the car, I was immediately impressed by the total silence around us. Before me the valley views extended in an uninterrupted half circle and as much as I looked I could see no other houses. Col explained that the Abercrombie River, which formed the back boundary of the property, flowed in the valley below us and that the land on the opposite bank belonged to the Blue Mountains National Park.

I decided to look inside the house first, before exploring the various outbuildings I could see further down the hill. We stepped onto the wooden veranda that ran along the front of the house, unlocked the plain front door and went inside.

There wasn’t much to see! The front door opened into a carpeted lounge/dining area with a slow combustion stove against the end wall, with a floor to ceiling wooden corner cupboard between the stove and the full-length windows along the wall facing the entry veranda. An open doorway led through to the kitchen that appeared to be in urgent need of renovations. In the kitchen there was a genuine pot-bellied stove in one corner and under the window looking down across the valley was a single bowl stainless steel sink. A small two-burner gas stove was next to a similarly powered refrigerator along another wall and various dilapidated cupboards were attached to other walls.

From the kitchen a doorway opened into a small laundry with a laundry tub and taps. Another doorway led outside from the laundry to a very small veranda with steps down to the grassy area at the back of the house.

Returning to the lounge area, I found doors to a reasonably sized bathroom and two bedrooms. The bathroom appeared to have been recently renovated. A toilet, hand basin and small corner bath cum shower recess looked to be in good condition and the whole room was tiled. A half-length window showed the view across