THE LAST TRAIN TO BALLARAT,
AMIDST SNOW AND GOLD

by Bob Tucker

The day after the convention closed a swarm of fans swept down on Spencer Street station to board a special train to Ballarat, the town where gold had been discovered in 1851. The con committee had arranged the excursion, but I doubt that even the wisest amongst them really knew how many fans completed the trip. We heard numerous reports of people being left behind, people wandering off to be lost forever in the Australian bush, and people jumping off to run ahead and beat the train into town. It was a lovely excursion for an old train fan. To begin, there was a delay of an hour or more at the station because (1) the trainmaster had lost his train. or (2) track gangs had taken up the Ballarat trackage and sold it, or (3) nobody could find the engineer. (Choose any one.) We whiled away the time by harassing commuters, taking pictures in fannish poses (which often startled those commuters), studying the murals in the lavatories, and eating daffodils. Susan Wood bought an armload of daffodils at a nearby flower shop and distributed them to fans, trainmen, and likable strangers; but rumor had it that Robin Johnson ate his for breakfast. The train finally arrived and all hands trooped aboard, using the daffodils as boarding passes. The conductor, his daffodil in hand, made several head-counts while the train was underway but arrived at a different figure every time -- the poor man never knew that some fans were hiding in the toilets while others were riding on the roof, or running on ahead and daring the engineer to catch up to them.

It was a splendid old train, a 19th century treasure that may well have carried pioneers to the goldfields in 1851. Pulled by a "T" class diesel locomotive, the only concession to modernity, the rolling stock consisted of three creaking, drafty, unhbated wooden carriages of the British type, and a brakevan bringing up the rear. One didn't tarry long in the toilets for fear of freezing his possessions; most fans huddled together for warmth and comfort in the compartments, protecting their daffodils from winterkill. A brake-van is a combination-baggage car and caboose, and there was some dancing in the van until the air-conditioning drove out the merry-makers. The van was air-conditioned because the brakeman rode with his burly frame hanging halfway out an open window, while he stared wistfully at the diesel ahead. He ignored the dancers and ignored me when I climbed into the cupola and tried to emulate him; I couldn't see the carriages or the diesel because the tiny windows were black with the accumulated grime of the past century. On we sped, thru Footscray and Werribee and North Geelong and Lal Lal, racing the sun in a loose manner of speaking. Ballarat is about 50 miles from Melbourne and we made it in under three hours.

Tour buses met us at the station, and the daffodil conductor hopped off his train and onto a bus to act as tour guide. (Amtrack will swoon dead away.) Gold was first found at Poverty Point and then on (or under) Sovereign Hill, followed by other rich strikes at Red Hill Gully Creek and the Canadian Gully; a mining town grew up around the sites and all of that area is now enclosed and called the Sovereign Hill Historical Park. We had lunch at the New York Bakery, and afterwards inspected a Chinese Joss House. a Mechanics' Institute and Free Library (no science fiction on the shelves), the United States Hotel and Victorian Theater, an Apothecaries Hall and two dozen other reconstructions of the old town. Some fans panned for gold in the Red Hill Gully creek while others bought souvenirs from the tinsmith and pottery shops; stick candy was on sale in the Ballarat Times printshop, as well as "Wanted" posters with your own name inserted as a desperate criminal. City slickers inspected the barnlot and listened with rapt interest as Sheryl Birkhead ticked off the breeds of livestock strolling about -- but then city slickers don't know much about farm critturs. A chill wind swept the hills driving a misty rain before it -- and before the afternoon was done I saw snow. I insisted it was snow and asked eyewitnesses to verify it. In a recent fanzine, Lesleigh Luttrell said it doesn't snow in Australia but then Lesleigh never visited Sovereign Hill on a cold August day. As we left, Shayne McCormack pinched a brick from the Hill brickyard and presented it to me as the first brick for the New Tucker Fan Hotel. I was quietly proud and toted it away.

A noted Los Angeles fan did not fall into the mine shaft.

Victorian Railways had a pleasant surprise for us when we returned to the train: the antiquated carriages were now heated! A foot-warmer had been placed in each compartment and we whooped for joy as we jostled one another for foot space on the heater. Tired but happy, toting bricks and daffodils, we returned to Melbourne.