Ercildoune via Ballarat
[The feast was spread in Ercildoun,
In Learmont's high and ancient hall:
And there were knights of great renown,
And ladies, laced in pall.]
Follow the highway
west from Ballarat
under the stone Gate
of Peace and Victory
(so big you think the trenches
must have been nearby)
along the Avenue of Honour
with its hundreds of old trees
each with a small plaque
and further hundreds of young trees
each also with plaques,
to the junction with the ring road,
keep on till you feel you've missed
the sign for Ercildoune
and will have to do an awkward u-turn,
and at length Ercildoune
(and Learmonth) the sign
points towards some low hills.
The dirt road is sending dustclouds
towards you, cars returning from
their Sunday look at Ercildoune,
and just before the gateway
there's a big arrow turning you
left into a wide paddock,
lined with parked cars, and folk
strolling in all directions
as refreshments are on offer
in the old shearing-shed.
Climb down, puppy, and inhale
for once real country smells.
Here's the gatehouse dispensing maps
and brochures: Ercildoune.
1838! that's early days,
and there's the wattle and daub
first shelter the brothers
from Scotland sheltered in.
But the house they built!
local silver-grey stone
shaped into some fancied fortress,
with battlemented turrets -
to repel the English maybe,
or Aboriginals with what? spears?
By the front door bristles
a bronze giant dog:
it which makes our puppy
bristle and growl
till we knock reassuringly
on resounding metal.
But it's the gardens people are here for.
A vast walled one, lately rescued from
dereliction, an old phoenix palm,
many new roses - come back next decade.
Everywhere, old trees shipped in
in small pots at the beginning:
sequoia and other giants
near the long lake (that needs rain),
where now a kilted piper skirls
piercingly over the paddocks.
Grateful shade, those big trees,
but mind your head - the old bunya pine
drops heavy sharp seed-cones.
In its heyday worked by well over a hundred,
twelve of them gardeners;
there's a cemetery we ought to walk to,
but ... maybe another time.
Farewell, adieu
to Ercildoune.
Max Richards
Doncaster, Melbourne
Oct/Nov 2006
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