Tom was due to go back to work in Tom Price on the 4th August beginning a period of "swings" that would see us living apart for two weeks at a time. The boys voted to stay in a Park in Carnarvon for that time and so it was back to mainstream reality for us.
We had been warned that Carnarvon was a "hole"and we had certainly experienced a few things during our weekly grocery trips into town that did little to endear us to the place, not being able get a shower anywhere, being told to fill up our fresh water supplies in town in the absence of any taps. However, as so often happens, once we had lived there for a while, we discovered many special people and facets that endeared the town to us. Top of this list would be Morels, a plantation opposite our caravan park. They ran a tiny shop that sold the freshest herbs, green veg, papaya, mandarins and joy of joys, my favourite, star fruit. The lady that manned the shop was just beautiful to us, often giving the boys free ice creams ( pure fruit ones, made on the premises), dried mango and little discounts on our purchases. When we went in for the last time, she pressed two packs of frozen mango cheeks and an enormous custard apple on me and looked genuinely sorry to see us go. The availability of wonderful fresh veg and fruit was a huge plus in Carnarvons favour for me. We also really enjoyed going to the Saturday morning markets, the civic centre cinema and the mile long Heritage Jetty with its cute train and awesome fishing off the end. The weather was warm if a bit windy at times and if we ever got sick of being in town, the delights of the coast at Quobba station were a mere 50kms away. I loved going for runs across Babbage island, following the old tram tracks that once transported cattle all the way to the end of the Jetty. Now the island is a Mecca for bird life and is a well protected wilderness that butts right up to the township. All these positive things however, could not hide the rifts between the white and indigenous population. I had numerous conversations with seemingly normal and pleasant local people whose off hand casual racism left me breathless. The Aboriginal people I did see were often sitting behind the pub, or congregating outside the entrance to the shopping centre in family groups waiting for the taxi home. I did not see any violence or witness any down and dirty shouting matches that were so common in Derby, but there was always a sense of apartness, and a feeling of fear that surrounded them. I don't know if the fear emanated from "us white folks" in response to stories or prior bad experiences, or if it came from the families themselves, but it was definitely there. I never saw any aboriginal person in conversation with a nonaboriginal either.
I also had a really interesting chat on the beach at Gnarloo to a local man called Mick, who believed the town's growth was stifled by a battalion of self interested, long time businessmen - a view which was crystallised by the case of Andre. Andre operated a food van and had come here for the season from Margaret River. His food was excellent and the van spotless. He had been unable, however, to get permission from the council to set up anywhere in Carnarvon and so drove 100kms every day in and out of Quobba to sell his food. Eventually, he cooked for the owners of Quobba and met some of their friends who owned a couple of the parks in town and ended up doing the dinner shift in his van at two of the parks. However, even though he was staying in Carnarvon Caravan Park, the owner would not let him sell anything to other residents in the park apparently because he himself owned several restaurants in town and did not want the competition. I guess this was the self interested short sightedness that Mick was talking about. He's probably the man responsible for the lack of taps and showers as well- "make the bludgers pay for a night in our parks, if they want some water" he would be spluttering.
Despite all this, I could live in Carnarvon. As Ned said, it had a great library and if a town has a great library, it has the potential to produce thoughtful people, which can only bode well for its future. The old dinos on the council have to die at some point and the hope would be that the next generation of kids grow up with more tolerance for each other than the last. 13 years ago, Tom decided not to even stay the night in Carnarvon after rocking into town on pension day and picking up on the vibe. Its come an awfully long way in those 13 years and i would like to come back in 30 years and see a place that's fulfilled it's promise.