You may or may not be familiar with the expression “out the back of Bourke”. The Outback Dictionary defines the expression in the following way: Australian expression which means any place which is remote or inconvinient(sic). Based on an actual place west NSW which is an extremely hot country town known for cotton farming and dust storms. And helpfully goes on to give an example: Where the hell is that place? It’s out the back of Bourke…

So it comes as a surprise, to me at least, that Scott’s grandfather was born in Bourke. He comes into the world on the 25th November,1889, and we hope to find some trace of the ancestral home. Far from dust storms, we drive through a horrible thunder and lightning storm to get to Bourke, which really is a long way from anywhere else. And proud of it.

In the late 1890s Bourke was a thriving inland port. At its peak, the Bourke Wharf had three steam driven cranes handling 40,000 bales of wool a year. This freight travelled down the Darling River by paddle steamer to railheads in South Australia and Victoria, and from then by train to Adelaide and Melbourne to textile mills and for export. With the advent of irrigation (to combat all those dust storms) citrus, cotton and wheat were also grown and shipped down the river.

While we have bits and pieces of information – grandfather’s date of birth, his parents’ names, his father’s employer etc., after a couple of days canvassing extremely helpful people at the Library, the Shire office, and the Lands Department, it seems few records remain. There are some stunning old buildings in the town dating around the late 1800s, but it seems lots of information and history has been lost.  And no, we didn’t find any family graves as the family left for New Zealand in 1896. Still, we had a lovely time wandering the streets, admiring the lovely old buildings and talking to lovely people. It was lovely.

We arrive in Bourke from equally as remote Lightning Ridge, world famous home of the Black Opal and weirdness. The sign at the entrance to town proclaims Lightning Ridge Population ? indicating the secretive nature of the inhabitants. Much like Coober Pedy, the other opal centre of Australia, people arrive and disappear underground – in both senses of the word. Black opals are not black. They come in various colours but on a black or dark body, which shows colours more vibrantly. They are very rare, therefore valuable – Economics 101, supply and demand.

If you are planning on moving to Lightning Ridge, you can lease a 50m x 50m home block. The town planners and council inspectors seem to have gone an a really long vacation because anything goes in terms of dwellings – I’m using the term extremely loosely. A broken down caravan, a tin shed, a bus or something that looks like a house but is made of rocks and beer bottles. And, yes, it is possible to build a house with beer cans.

At the other end of the scale is a magnificent, although incomplete, castle built on a mining lease. The 15 metre tall structure is the work of Vittorio Stefanato, known locally as Amigo. Amigo commenced building his castle, completely by hand, from ironstone boulders he collected in the area. His scaffolding consisted of 44 gallon drums and boards. Under the castle there are tunnels, but these were closed off on our visit.  The property is littered with piles of “interesting” bits and pieces – a pile of boots, drums, bike frames, iron pots and pans and other junk. Frankly, it’s a mess, but a dreamer’s mess. And in Lightning Ridge it’s not even eccentric. There are at least two castles.

When you think things can’t get any weirder in the outback, they do. From Bourke we are on the way to Dubbo (see previous post) and we enter the Shire of Bogan. Yes, we do. The town of Nyngan has such a sense of humour they decide to erect a statue in homage. Not just any old statue, but a Big Bogan. Controversial, yes, but after much, one imagines heated, discussion, the proposal goes through and has an understandably mixed reception.

Resplendent in singlet, stubbies and thongs (jandals), with a Southern Cross tattoo, fishing rod in hand and armed with an esky (chilly bin/cooler) full of cold ones (bevvies/beers), the final product is 5.96 m tall and weighs close to 1500 Kg. We are lost for words.