Bingara

Tamworth was a delight after all the small country towns we've been to. Huge country town with all the shops AND UberEats ( 😍 ) the height of sophistication!

The caravan park was lovely, lots of space for the mutt to frolic about. He made lots of Cavoodle girlfriends but seemed to prefer a huge white Husky called Ghost. Well, I called him Ghost. I think his real name was Sarg. Which does not work for me so Ghost it is.

To the UK massive: I was today years old when I discovered the 'Travel Man' series with Richard Ayoade. I have binged all ten series and had to go for an eye test from staring at the telly for so long. Telly gold.

We moved on to Bingara yesterday. Just a quick stop here as we're keen to get back over the border into QLD. It's chuffin freezing in NSW. Queensland, I take it all back - I love you!

Bingara is right in the middle of the Fossicker's Way, a main road wending its way through gem fields and old mining towns. Bingara was a mining boom town of the 1800's, when gold, diamonds, sapphires and tin were found. The good stuff was pretty much gone by the 1900's, but the towns remain and struggle on.

There's an eery feeling at the Riverside Caravan Park in Bingara. No one talks to one another and the permanents completely ignore the caravanners. Initially, I wondered if they'd all abandoned the town and headed up north for some warmth. But I did spy two of them today doing some gardening, keeping their backs to the park the entire time, pointedly avoiding conversation.

In fact, the whole town seems to be full of slow, dull eyed droids with painfully nasal voices. It's really odd. I went to the local IGA for some groceries and it was like walking into a saloon bar in the old western movies, when everyone stops what they're doing to turn and look at you. If they had raised their nostrils to the air to sniff the new blood in town, I would not have been surprised.

Sidenote; they had a deli with home made stuff so I tried something I can't pronounce that seemed to be warm quiche with veggies. This was a mistake. I was very poorly later that night and the empty streets echoed with the sound of my stomach emptying itself, as I took the dog for a late night stroll.

Anyway, I set about googling the arse out of Bingara, wondering whether the town was built on an old Aboriginal settlement or cemetery - hence the ghost town feel.
And I'll be damned if I wasn't nearly right.

So, the park is on Copeton Dam Road. And under Copeton Dam itself are two villages, submerged under the cold, dark waters. When the area has droughts and the dam is at 4% or less, the remains of Copeton town (known as Boggy Camp) and Dasey Town are revealed, specifically their cemeteries. Some of the headstones and graves are perfectly preserved, despite being submerged for 100yrs. I wouldn't like to hazard a guess at their state beneath the silt and mud. I've attached some photos.

There was worse to come.
Just up the road at Myall Creek Station, one of Australia's worst massacres of Aboriginals occurred in 1838. Twenty eight Aboriginal men, women and children were murdered by twelve local station hands. The massacre is a harrowing reminder of early colonial violence and the only case, where most of the killers were tried and hanged.

It was a cold, premeditated murder. The victims were rounded up and most were decapitated. It would have taken a while, as the station hands only had two swords (and one gun with two bullets) between them. When the crime was reported by a squatter, the offenders burned the bodies and crudely swept the scene - although burnt bones were found a few days later, by a magistrate.

It is thought that similar massacres had been occurring all over Australia, as the early pioneers settled on land that had belonged to the Aboriginals for 60,000 yrs. As the newly arrived settlers spread out and grazed their sheep and cattle, the Indigenous fought back by killing the cattle and damaging their property. Remembering that Aboriginals were not given human rights until 1967, it was commonplace for parties of early white settlers to hunt and kill them, with impunity.

The locals have worked tirelessly for decades, to have a memorial dedicated to the Myall Creek Massacre. I went to see it today and it was a sobering experience. There's a podcast to listen to on your way around the walking track, lined with memorial stones, telling how it happened in the voices of the descendants of the original parties.

From memory, eleven of the twelve stationhands were rounded up and sent for trial. The ring leader, John Fleming, was hidden for two years by locals and never found or prosecuted, despite being identified as a wanted man. He lived into his 80's and later in life, sat on a town council, the board for the local school and unbelievably, was sworn in as a local magistrate. He married a local girl, raised a family and bought swathes of land in the area, close to the massacre site. He never offended again. Seven others were hanged for the murders. It was the first trial of its kind - and the first time that white men were punished for killing Aboriginals. It is believed that massacres of this kind continued until the early 1900's.

I'd have loved to have hung around and done some panning for gold and fossicking for sapphires, but northwards we must go before my fingers fall off from the bitter cold.

Off to Goondiwindi tomorrow - where Dick has been promised 5 acres to gallop about on and I have been promised a heated spa!

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