by Kerry Tolson @kerrytolson.com
Ok, yes, I admit I have visited and ogled at the Albury Railway Station... a number of times. OK, ok, every time I visit Albury, which is regularly, and yes, I have been known to tell and encourage others to visit the Albury station – Well it’s a beautiful building!
Mal and I made the station our first stop and I admit I was excited to see this building. Not only did Thomas Julian build it, but he also owned the pug mill that built the bricks for it so I was feeling a tad proud of what my ancestor had done. As we drove up to it, I was a bit shocked to find it little more than an unimpressive single storey, red brick building with a touch of white trim. No ornate iron lace, no fancy tessellated foyer or decorative rose ceilings with chain chandelier lights, no pretty fretwork awnings. Compared with the stations we had recently seen, I would say this was quite an ugly duckling. It wasn’t even a pretty orange colour.
Despite the disappointment I was feeling, we decided to call into the Information Centre and see what we could find on the station. My sunken bottom lip didn’t last for long as I was taken into the museum part of the centre and shown two beautiful paintings of the station. It turns out the station originally had been a stunning piece of architecture; double storeyed with grand dining rooms and waiting rooms, enormous fire places and all the trimmings, then in the 1980's the top storey was removed and all the grandeur stripped. “One of the sillier development decisions ever made” the woman told me sadly. I perked up, please to know that my ancestor hadn’t been the one to leave an eyesore to Benalla.
Another of Benalla’s famous, or maybe that should be infamous, residents was Ned Kelly, but compared to the bravery of Sir ‘Weary’, NK held absolute no candle or interest for me.
The bronze stature of Sir ‘Weary’ was indeed quite moving and faced the most beautiful rose garden. Apparently every rose breed/type is planted in this garden and we had an enjoyable time smelling and reading the names of the hundreds of roses that grow there – Edwards rose (after Sir ‘Weary’) was exquisite in both colour and smell, and the rose named after Olive Baden-Powell (founder of girl guides/brownies) was also stunningly beautiful.
Euroa was a flash past on the way to Heathcote, reluctantly we drove thru quickly but still took in the sights of this very pretty historical town with its enormous buildings, lace balconied hotels and flour mills now turned into beautiful homes. I had read that there was a ‘colourful phenomenon’ called Pink Cliffs at Heathcote and declared, “We must visit them!”
Heathcote was another gorgeous little village of lace and fretwork but there was no time to discover its charm; natural wonders called and so we drove down country lanes looking for this gorge of wonderment in the largest remaining Box-Ironbark forest in Victoria.
The signage to Pink Cliffs Reserve was well marked and so we followed the road...and arrived at the local refuge tip. Our trip was fast becoming the “Tip-Rat Tour” according to Big M and we turn around trying to find the right route.
took place. Mal is most unimpressed, “way to go to make an attraction out of erosion’ he mumbles as we wander back to the car.
I agree wholeheartily with him and dream back to the pink curves of Benalla’s ‘Gaudi’.
Hello! I'm Kerry
. . . a plan-nothing, have no idea where I'm going travelholic.
A daughter of the gypsies and the wife of a workaholic, I'm forever wondering 'What's over there?' and devising ways to squeeze through the barbed-wire fence of small-business ownership responsibilities and every-day life tangles to discover it.
and this is my book