Open Writing

As a young family, we spent time living and working in Ceduna, in outback South Australia. While picnicking with friends on the beach at Davenport, I lost my engagement ring.

The next day, I took myself back to the beach, an isolated spot on the shores of the Great Australian Bight. Being an optimist, I had taken a sieve and had begun my tedious task, when an elderly gentleman approached, asking if I had lost something.

I told him about the ring. He introduced himself. He was Pop Saunders, and came from Denial Bay, a little further along the coast.

'I might be able to help you,' he said, telling me that he had spent much of his life divining gold and water. 'These high tides can shift up to six feet of sand. Your ring could be a long way out to sea but we'll do our best. When it suits you, I'll come down with the divining rods.'

I was to spend many happy days with Pop.

Climbing these beautiful white sand hills with my new octogenarian companion became a regular event. He was good company and would sometimes tell me about his life in Denial Bay.

He had been born on an ox dray making its way from Adelaide to the property which his parents, along with their possessions and supplies, planned to settle on and develop. At an early age, Pop began working with his father. By the time he had turned nine, he was put out in a shepherd's hut, with only his dog for company. It was his lot to care for the sheep.

Despite the lack of opportunity for Pop to learn to read or write, he accumulated a vast knowledge about the earth which surrounded him, that which existed below the earth and in the sky above.

He had picked up his water and gold divining skills which were sought by both the South Australian and West Australian governments to find the precious commodities which would enhance the growth of this country.

Friends joined in the search. My husband discovered that the diving rods worked for him in detecting gold objects. Although the search continued for some time, the ring was never found. Instead I had discovered something much more precious. Through Pop, I was becoming aware of those rich elements possessed by these early settlers inhabiting their new land . . . resourcefulness and survival skills-something which my own generation was less familiar with. When I asked Pop if he had ever sought gold for himself, he said 'What would I want with that? I've got everything a man could want. A home, a lovely wife and family.'

This was reinforced when we visited his home at Denial bay. It had been made of flattened kerosene tins and lined with paper. Colourful bougainvillea vines covered the outside of the house. It was a picture.

After we returned to Sydney, I often wondered if oncoming generations would know of the lives, the difficulties and achievements of their forebears.

It was some years later, after we had moved to the Northern Tablelands of New South Wales that I began working at a nursing home, where many of the residents would talk about their earlier lives and those of their forebears. I soon realised that many of these people had no remaining family or little contact with their families with whom they could share their memories. I began recording oral histories. Families of the participants were supportive, especially as they knew little-often nothing-of what was recorded.

As others became aware of my venture, I was told about other likely contributors from different parts of the country. During the process, I realised that while much interesting material had been published in history books, I had discovered events that probably had never been recorded. Some of those events might have seemed 'ordinary' to the contributor, others more dramatic, but all of important content regarding the development of our nation-an essential part of our Australian culture.

As my recordings were typed into book form, I began the task of finding a publisher. Not an easy process when the subject matter does not attract a great reading public. However, interest seems to be mounting.

I regret that although much of my family history has been handed down to me by my mother, there are still blank areas and no-one left to fill them. I am reminded that our generation should become the keepers of our precious past.

© Val Jones

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Val writes for Bonzer! magazine. Please visit www.bonzer.org.au