6. She'll be comin' round the mountain

There is a collection of old-time songs that stirs many wonderful memories of a favourite place – The Quartermaster’s Store, Goodnight Irene, If You Knew Suzie, and Janine, I Dream of Lilac Time – all hits from the early part of the last century, well-loved and often sung by my grandparents. But the one that stirs the greatest memories, and always will, is She’ll Be Coming ’Round the Mountain.

That was the song we sang – my grandparents, my sister, and I – all squashed together on the bench seat of the old Holden ute as we left the bitumen and bumped up the stony track into the Brisbane Ranges and to their home.

When I was a small child, my grandparents built themselves a bush home in the middle of the mountains, about 100 km from Melbourne and 50 km from Bacchus Marsh, the nearest country town. They towed a little old caravan up the track and gradually built a series of rooms around it. Papa had a lease to quarry slate in the area, and Grandma kept house – such as it was – cared for him and their three dogs, listened to Blue Hills on the radio each afternoon, and kept herself busy in a very lonely environment, far from her beloved family: my mother (their only child) and Grandma’s many siblings.

There was no electricity or running water when they first moved there. Cooking was done on a wood-fired stove, the refrigerator ran on kerosene, and gas lanterns lit the evenings. Water was collected in a tank, and the “dunny” was out the back and down the hill – far enough from the house, and emptied weekly by Papa. Eventually, there was cold water plumbed into the kitchen sink, and a generator installed to run lights at night. It was a rudimentary home... and my sister and I loved it.

As both our parents worked, we spent most of our school holidays with Grandma and Papa. Mum and Dad would drive us up to the Brisbane Ranges at the start of the break and return to collect us at the end. We spent our days “helping” Grandma cook scones and other treats in the wood oven, playing darts or hooky, walking the dogs, foraging in the bush, and taking picnic morning teas to Papa at his quarry.

Grandma’s only instructions: don’t go too far, and watch for snakes—especially in summer! Papa made a blackboard (I think it was originally for scoring darts), and I would play “school” with it. One holiday, he made us a billy cart, which we loved racing down the bush tracks.

Twice a week, on Tuesdays and Fridays, Papa finished up early at the quarry. After cleaning up, we’d all squeeze into the ute for the drive to “town” – Bacchus Marsh. While Papa ran business errands, we’d go to the post office and do the grocery shopping with Grandma. Then we’d meet at the local pub, where Janine and I enjoyed a pink lemonade before the drive home. It wasn’t long before we were all singing those favourite songs again.

At night, we sat around the table playing cards – usually Euchre, my grandparents’ favourite, but sometimes Go Fish or Strip Jack Naked, then we would drink grandma’s cocoa and go to bed - we slept on a fold out couch in the “good” room - and grandma would sing us to sleep with a lullaby each night. It was a wonderful way to spend our holidays.

Many family gatherings were held at Grandma and Papa’s house – they loved to entertain, even though they lived a fairly isolated life. One or more of Grandma’s sisters would drive up with their families, and we’d have lunch on the barbecue Papa built – sausages and chops tasting of smoke and charcoal, served with onions and tomato sauce in a piece of bread.

The men were offered beer; the ladies usually drank water or soft drink. There was sometimes a salad, and almost always a cake or slice served with tea. Woe betide anyone needing the dunny – cousins were known to throw stones at the tin roof to scare the unfortunate occupant!

After lunch, we might walk to a quarry or one of the old gold mines scattered among the hills. If it was too hot, there’d be games of darts or hooky on the covered verandah.

One particularly memorable Christmas was spent in the Brisbane Ranges. Grandma and Papa cooked turkey and vegetables in the wood oven, and they decorated a gum tree in the lounge room. We exchanged presents and shared the meal. I remember how hot it was that day – the stove had been burning for hours, and Papa’s face turned beetroot red from the heat!

As the years went by, Grandma missed her family more and more. She didn’t drive, and there was no phone in the house, so staying in touch was difficult. Eventually, she made the brave decision to move back to the city to be nearer everyone. She still visited Papa regularly, and we still joined her for school holidays, though we were growing more independent, too.

Papa had the phone installed so he and Grandma could stay in touch. But when our family moved to Sydney in 1973, our visits to Melbourne became irregular, and we didn’t always make it out to the Brisbane Ranges.

My last visit was in 1976. I’d graduated high school and went on a road trip with a boyfriend. We stayed with Grandma and Papa for a few days, and I enjoyed showing him all the places I had loved as a child.

In 1977 at the age of 68, Grandma passed away, and two years later, Papa followed her, at the same age. I had been on the phone with him not long before, planning a visit—but I was too late.

Since Papa had leased the land from the state forest department, the property was returned to the government. The house and surrounding buildings were bulldozed and dumped into one of the quarries. The destruction damaged the environment – Papa’s once-tended gardens spread unchecked, growing rampant up the hillside.

The track that led to their house remains, now named in their honour. I’ve returned many times, bringing my children to share the memories. The site of the house is still clearly visible, and the tracks to the old quarries and gold mines remain walkable.

My husband and I have camped at the old home site—probably illegally, but who’s telling?—and hiked the peaceful, beautiful hills nearby.

That place, and the memories held there, will always be in my heart. And when I hear She’ll Be Coming ’Round the Mountain, I’m right back in the Holden ute, bumping up the track with my grandparents and sister, singing at the top of our lungs.