Heritage by Judy Nunn Sample Chapter

8/4/2019 Heritage by Judy Nunn Sample Chapter

1/21

Heritage

They came to change the course of a river.And changed the course of their lives.

Copyright Judy Nunn 2005. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmittedin any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.


2/21

This book is a work of fiction. A number of well-known historical figures areincorporated, but with the exception of several locals whose real names I have used,all other characters are fictitious. The work camp of Spring Hill is also fictitious and isloosely based on my research of the existing work camps of the time.

An Arrow bookPublished by Random House Australia Pty LtdLevel 3, 100 Pacific Highway, North Sydney NSW 2060www.randomhouse.com.au

First published by Random House Australia 2005This Arrow edition published in 2006, 2007, 2011

Copyright Judy Nunn 2005

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by anyperson or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by anymeans, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying (except under the statutoryexceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or byany information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission ofRandom House Australia.

Addresses for companies within the Random House Group can be found atwww.randomhouse.com.au/offices

National Library of AustraliaCataloguing-in-Publication Entry

Nunn, Judy.Heritage / Judy Nunn.

ISBN 978 1 86471 249 0 (pbk)

Snowy Mountains Hydro-electric Authority Fiction.

Refugees Fiction.

A823.3

Typeset by Midland Typesetters, AustraliaPrinted in Australia by Griffin Press, an accredited ISO AS/NZS 14001:2004Environmental Management System printer

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

The paper this book is printed on is certified against the

Forest Stewardship Council Standards. Griffin Press holds

FSC chain of custody certification SGS-COC-005088. FSC

promotes environmentally responsible, socially beneficial

and economically viable management of the worlds forests.



3/21

CH A P T E R ON E

T

hey came from everywhere. Within a matter ofmonths, the mountain work camps and townshipsof the Monaro rang with a cacophony of unfamil-

iar accents and languages which confused both the localsand the hundreds of their fellow countrymen who hadflocked to the area looking for work. Even city-bred Aus-tralians, whod bumped into the odd Wog and consideredthemselves relatively sophisticated, were confounded.They were outnumbered by the Europeans, and bewil-dered by the sudden onslaught of foreign accents and the

sights and smells of strange foods. Garlic wafted from thekitchens of the Italians; the Poles and the Czechs ate evil-looking, thick sausages; the Germans downed sauerkrautby the bucket-load; and the Norwegians, incomprehensi-bly, relished soused herring and pickled rollmops withtheir beer. The previously sheltered Australians didntknow what to make of this avalanche of new sensations.

It had been on August 1, 1949 that fifty-three-year-oldWilliam Hudson was appointed Commissioner of theSnowy Mountains Hydro-Electric Authority. Ahead of uslie many years of toil, numerous obstacles to be sur-mounted and, I have no doubt, many disappointments, he



4/21

announced in his radio broadcast to the nation. But theseare what make the achievement worthwhile. The nation

has accepted the Scheme and if I judge Australians rightly,we will see that it goes through.The people of Australia listened in awe as Hudson

unfolded the plans for the massive construction scheme,the most ambitious ever to be undertaken in their country.

The waters of the Snowy River were to be diverted fromtheir path to the sea by a series of tunnels under the GreatDividing Range. The waters would be channelled west-wards into the Murrumbidgee and Murray Rivers, whoseflow would be regulated by the provision of two main waterstorage areas, Jindabyne and Adaminaby Dams. The SnowyScheme had two principal purposes: the irrigation of dryinland areas, and the creation of a massive source of electri-cal power. As the accumulated waters were diverted throughthe system of tunnels and reservoirs, the energy generated by

their movement would be stored at various stages in powerstations where it would be converted into electricity. It wasestimated that the Scheme would require the constructionof approximately fifty miles of aqueducts, ninety miles oftunnels, sixteen large dams and seven power stations.

Commissioner Hudson set about the task with all theenergy and commitment for which he was renowned.

Overseas contractors were employed, not only for theirengineering expertise and the supply of heavy equipmentand vehicles, but for the construction of temporary town-ships at the many work sites.

The Snowy Scheme was to be a long haul twenty-fiveyears in all and men couldnt live in tents forever, espe-cially during the bitterly cold winter months.

Most important to the success of the Scheme was thesupply of workers, both skilled and non-skilled. An under-taking of such magnitude demanded legions of workersalong with the hundreds of specialists required and, with apopulation of only eight million and a critical post-war

22 H E R I T A G E



5/21

shortage of men, Australia had to look overseas for labour.The call went out.

The Australian Governments offer resonated through-out war-torn Europe and was answered in droves. Thosewhose lives had been destroyed by the ravages of war felta new world was opening for them.

The Snowy Mountains Hydro-Electric Authority consid-ered the combination of so many nationalities a potentialdanger and initially established separate camps for the localand migrant workers. An Aussie camp and a New Aus-tralian camp were erected on opposite sides of the SnowyRiver, just downstream from Jindabyne. The latter quicklybecame known as Wog Camp, the Aussies choosing toignore the official term New Australians, referring insteadto their fellow workers as Reffos, Balts, Wogs, Krauts,Eyeties, Dagos and any number of other derogatory titles.

None of these names seemed to overly bother the Euro-

peans, though some new arrivals found the Australiansinability to distinguish between different nationalities irri-tating. Germans and Poles, bitter enemies in their homecountries, disliked being collectively referred to as Wogs,and Hungarians and Czechs were annoyed at beingdismissed as Balts. But for the most part, the Europeansunderstood that the Australians attitude was a product of

insecurity and ignorance. Australia had no borderingcountries, no immediate neighbours whose languages andcultures differed from their own. The European Snowyworkers, unlike their counterparts in the cities, were not alonely, stigmatised minority. They were not easily threat-ened. Buoyed by the strength of their numbers, they recog-nised the Australians for what they were: naive.

Cooma, the largest of the Monaro townships, with easyrail access from Sydney and Canberra, had been selected asthe Authoritys headquarters. Satellite townships of pre-fabricated houses and facilities were erected to the northand the east of the town. As the migrants continued to

J UD Y N UNN 23



6/21

pour into the township, Cooma became a microcosm ofEurope and proximity forced its local inhabitants to recog-

nise and accept their new neighbours. In the nearby ruraltownships of Adaminaby, Berridale and Jindabyne accept-ance was more gradual, with many of the townspeoplefearful of the unfamiliar and different.

But it was the workers themselves who first forged thebond that slowly spread throughout the mountains andvalleys and plains. Workers started referring to themselvessimply as Snowy men and, although there was occasionalfriction, the Authoritys fears of fierce racial disharmonyproved groundless. Commissioner Hudsons policy fromthe outset had been one of assimilation, and his presenceremained a daily driving force for harmony throughoutthe region.

By the early 1950s mobile houses were already replacingtents in many work camps. The prefabricated structures,

built on sled bases and known as snow huts, were trans-ported to each new site as the work progressed. In areaswhere labour was required over a long period for a partic-ular phase of the project, mobile settlements became town-ships with married couples quarters and prefabricatedcottages, and single mens huts and barracks. There werecanteens, mess halls, and entertainment facilities, and an

overall sense of permanency prevailed as Snowy peopleformed bonds that would last a lifetime. Communitiesflourished, gardens were carefully tended and the simplestof houses became nurtured homes.

It was to one of these townships that young PietroToscanini arrived in early 1954.

Twenty-year-old Pietro had been bewildered when hedarrived at the picturesque railway station of Cooma andwalked through the gates to the forecourt overlooking thetown below. Theyd told him in Sydney that he was going tothe Snowy Mountains. But where were the mountains?

24 H E R I T A G E



7/21

Where was the snow? Hed anticipated a replica of hisnative alpine Italy, but all he could see were distant low-

lying hills surrounding a vast plain, in the centre of whichsat a shabby town with makeshift settlements sprawlingeither side. The heat, too, confused him. It was so hot thathe was sweating beneath the fine wool suit hed purchasedbefore hed left his home country. It was the only suit hepossessed, the latest fashion with tapering collar and trouserlegs, and hed worn it to impress his new employers.

Hed been comforted, though, by the crowds of fellowpassengers pouring through the gates into the forecourt,speaking all manner of languages other than English. Hemight have been in Europe, hed thought, and hed found itmost reassuring. The several days he had spent in Sydneyprior to his departure for the Snowy had not been pleasant.

We speak English here, mate, hed been brusquelyinformed when hed tried to buy a beer in a pub. But hadnt

the man realised hed been trying to speak English? hedwondered. Hed said please and thank you, two of theterms he knew, like hello and goodbye, and hed sincediscovered that bira sounded very like beer. And thenthe man had looked him up and down and muttered asnide remark to the others at the counter. Although Pietrohad been unable to understand the actual words, hed

known it was a derogatory comment on his appearance.Why? His new suit was far smarter and more fashionablethan the shapeless baggy trousers worn by the men in thebar. Pietro had decided that the man, along with most ofthe other Sydneysiders hed met, simply did not like him,and hed wondered why.

Hed made friends on the train trip. Or rather the men

who had spoken to him had made friends with him. Shyby nature, Pietro had not joined in the conversation,although the three were seated nearby and speaking inItalian. Hed unashamedly eavesdropped, though, relish-ing the sound of his mother tongue.

J UD Y N UNN 25



8/21

Two of the men, who appeared in their mid-thirties,were brothers. They had been chatting animatedly to each

other and the third man had introduced himself to them.He didnt look Italian, but spoke the language fluently. Itturned out he was a Czech from Prague, but his wife wasItalian. His name was Frydek and he was a geologist, hetold the brothers, but he would have to work two years asa labourer under the governments Displaced Personscontract before his qualifications would be accredited. Hewas going to send home every penny he earned, he said, sothat his wife and baby son could join him.

The brothers, Luigi and Elvio Capelli, were carpentersbrought out by Legnami Pasottis firm to join the hundredsof other Northern Italians contracted to build houses andbarracks for the Snowy workforce.

The conversation had been in full swing when the elderof the two Capelli brothers, Elvio, had turned to Pietro.

And where are you from, my friend? hed asked.Pietro had been embarrassed. He hadnt thought his

eavesdropping had been so apparent.Milano, hed stammered self-consciously. He wasnt

really from Milano. Not originally. He was from themountains. But how could he tell them that he could notremember the first half of his life? He hoped they wouldnt

ask too many questions.Ah, Milano, Elvio had enthused. We, too, are from

Milano, what a small world, eh? Come and join us, whatis your name? He hadnt been aware of Pietros eaves-dropping at all, hed merely recognised the young man asan Italian, and a Northerner at that, but he was aware thatthe boy was lonely, in need of company, and that he

appeared a little shy.Elvio was a sensitive man and, realising that Pietro didntwish to be interrogated, hed quickly reverted to general con-versation; then, when they reached Cooma, he announcedthat they were all good friends and they must keep in touch.

26 H E R I T A G E



9/21

We are to be based in Cooma, he said to Pietro. Whatabout you?

I dont know, Pietro replied. A work camp somewhere.Its called Spring Hill. Im to be met at the station.Theyd bade each other farewell on the railway

platform, Pietro promising he would visit his newfoundfriends, and then hed walked through the gates and stoodon the forecourt, patiently waiting to be found by theperson who was to meet him.

The crowd had dispersed until finally thered been sixmen left, two chatting in Hungarian and the others, of inde-terminate nationality, wandering about impatiently. Finally,an Australian in a grubby open-necked shirt, shorts andsandals, who had been lounging against a nearby LandRover, walked up to them. He was carrying a clipboard.

Gday. You the blokes for Spring Hill?Hed ticked their names off the list and, together with

the five other men, Pietro had been piled into the back ofthe canvas-covered Land Rover and driven through thecentre of Cooma on his way to the work camp.

Cooma had intrigued Pietro. It was not large, but it wasnot at all the shabby town it had appeared from therailway station. To his right was a neat, green park wherefamilies picnicked and children climbed the railings of

the small rotunda in the centre. The main thoroughfarewas busy with traffic, the pavements bustled with peoplemilling about awning-fronted shops and on either side ofthe broad, dusty boulevard stood graceful hotels withbalconies of ornate iron lace.

Pietro barely had time to drink it all in before hed foundhimself clinging to the Land Rover railings as it bounced its

way over rough gravel roads towards the settlementapproximately fifty miles from Cooma. The trip wouldtake about an hour and a half, the driver had told them.

Good day for it, the taciturn Aussie had remarked,takes about four hours in winter when the weathers

J UD Y N UNN 27



10/21

crook, and sometimes you have to wait until the snow-ploughs have been through. Then hed lapsed into silence.

The men a German, a Pole, a Norwegian and the twoHungarians had chatted jovially during the trip, mostlyin passable English, and Pietro had been able to offernothing more than his name and how do you do, agreeting which he had mastered to perfection. The huge,blond Norwegian had slapped him on the back and saidYou will be right, mate, in a grotesque imitation of anAussie accent and the others had laughed.

Welcome to Spring Hill. The Australian whod greetedthem was a lean, fit man of around forty, with a pleasantsmile, but a manner that clearly indicated his authority.Im your boss, hed said with a brisk handshake allround. Names Rob Harvey. You men speak English?

The others had all nodded, and as the boss had claspedhis hand Pietro had stared at the ground, shaking his head

in embarrassment.No worries, mate. Good-looking kid, Rob thought, bit

on the skinny side, though; hed need toughening up.Rob Harvey, Site Engineer, was responsible for over-

seeing all the work sites at Spring Hill, liaising with theNorwegian contractors, the myriad sub-contractors, andthe Authority itself, namely Commissioner William Hudson.

But, although well placed among the hierarchy, Rob choseto live in the wages camp with the workers, rather thanthe staff camp that housed the engineers and clericalemployees. He liked to keep in direct contact with the menand take a personal interest in each of his workers.

You Italian? hed queried, looking Pietro up and down,and Pietro had finally raised his eyes and nodded.

Ill put you on Luckys team Lucky speaks everylingo under the sun. Come on, Ill show you blokes youraccommodation.

From that day on, Pietros life had changed. He lovedSpring Hill. Hed expected tents. The interpreter in Sydney

28 H E R I T A G E



11/21

had explained to him that he was going to a work camp,and a work camp meant tents. But Spring Hill was a town

of eight hundred people. There in the wilderness, amongthe red gums, the blackbutts and the silver birch, withthe mountains forming a backdrop and the river flowingnearby, were streets and rows of neat, prefabricated staffcottages with front verandahs and gardens. And theadjacent camp, although less sophisticated, was equallyimpeccable, with lines of barracks and single cabins,ablution blocks, a huge mess hall, and a wet canteen wherethe men gathered over their beers at night.

Pietro had been allotted the end room in a line ofbarracks, and he kept it in pristine condition. Of a similarsize to the one-man cabins, the rooms in the barracks weresmall, each housing no more than an iron-framed bed anda tallboy and lowboy made of plywood, but Pietro wasinordinately proud of his new home. Hed acquired blue

curtains for his window, an orange bedspread for hispallet, and a small blue mat with orange trim for the floorso that everything matched. They looked quite new,although they werent.

They is old, Pietro, I am soon throw them out, pleaseyou take them, Vesna had insisted in her colourfullybroken English.

It was Lucky who had introduced him to Vesna and herhusband, Miroslav, who lived in one of the staff cottages.They were Yugoslavs, and Miroslav was an engineer.Pietro had been surprised and a little overawed whenLucky had taken him to their home, but then Lucky haddone so much for him. It seemed sometimes that Luckyhad adopted him and, although there was only sixteen

years difference in their ages, Pietro had quickly seizedupon Lucky as the father he couldnt remember.Tell me about yourself, Lucky had said over their beers

in the wet canteen on Pietros third night.Pietro had worked hard for the past three days. Hed

J UD Y N UNN 29



12/21

wanted to. Language barriers appeared to present littleproblem to the others, the men communicating with gestures

or yelling for others to interpret if necessary, but althoughthere were a number of Italians among the forty-man team,Pietro had found it difficult to join in the general cama-raderie. His natural reserve had made him reclusive. So heddecided to prove his worth another way. He would showthem that, despite his slight build, he was strong. Strong andnot afraid of hard work. And the work had been very hard.

There were many work sites around Spring Hill. Thefirst of the Schemes major projects, the Guthega dam,power station, three-mile tunnel and interconnecting steelpipeline, was due for completion the following year, andthe race was on.

Assigned to Luckys team, Pietros job had been in thesmaller of the tunnels, loading the skips after firing. Theaqueduct system, designed to pick up the maximum run-

off from tributaries feeding into the Snowy River, requiredmany miles of tunnels, far smaller than the massive onesthrough which the river itself would be channelled. Therun-off water would eventually be piped through thesetunnels into the nearby dam already nearing completion.

The face was drilled with jackhammers, the holes loadedwith gelignite, then fired. An hour later, after the ventilat-

ing system had cleared away the fumes, the workers re-entered the claustrophobic tunnel, barely two yards high,and with hands and shovels they collected the debris, usingspalling hammers to break up the rocks too big to lift.Then they pushed the skips along rail tracks to the spoildump outside.

Come on, Pietro, tell me about yourself, Lucky had

again prompted in Italian when the boy had remainedsilent. Youre a hard worker, I can see that much, hedadded encouragingly. Whats your background?

Pietro had looked self-consciously around the wetcanteen, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the un-

30 H E R I T A G E



13/21

intelligible conversation of men. A card game was goingon in one corner and, in another, men were laying bets on

an unknown wager; no-one was paying them any attention.I worked for a year on a construction site in Milano,hed said, then returned his attention to his beer, hopingthe simplicity of such a reply would suffice.

But it hadnt. So youre from Milano? Lucky appearedmost interested.

Pietro had been impressed by the man from the momenthed met him, as most people were. Lucky was far morethan a foreman: he was everybodys friend. A German, healso spoke English and Italian fluently and seemed to havea passable knowledge of any number of other languages,which made him a bit of a mystery. But he shrugged offenquiry, simply saying, I have an ear and an interest.

Physically strong, Lucky would have been handsome,had it not been for the puckered scar on his temple that

made his left eye droop like a bloodhounds. Lucky hadnatural authority and an intense charm, qualities whichhad served him well when hed arrived with the first batchof Snowy workers in 49.

Looking up from his beer, Pietro had felt himselfsuccumb to the keenness of the enquiry and the eagerintelligence in Luckys gaze, which even the disfigured eye

could not disguise. Perhaps he was merely flattered that aman such as Lucky would find him of interest, but Pietrohad a sudden desire to admit to the mystery of his life. Hehad told others his story before. In Milano hed made nosecret of his memory loss, although he had not relished thediscussion it occasionally invited. But during his job inter-views, both in Italy and Australia, he had been careful to

admit to none of his past, fearful that it would affect hisemployment prospects.In a way I am from Milano, yes, he answered carefully.

I lived there for many years, but it was never my home. Icome from the mountains.

J UD Y N UNN 31



14/21

His considered response had clearly intrigued Lucky,who forgot that hed finished his beer and had been about

to get another. Where in the mountains?I do not know. I can remember only the snow, and themountain peaks so high they block out the sun. Andin the spring, the rocks and the grasses and the flowers,and the pine forests in the valley below. And I canremember the goats.

He didnt want to dwell upon the goats. During theoccasions when jagged fragments of memory returned,the goats were the clearest image of all. Pietro liked thegoats, but he didnt welcome them when they became toovivid when he could see their teats and feel the rubberywarmth in his hands as he milked them for such clarityinvariably preceded a seizure. He could never rememberwhat images followed the goats, but when the fit hadpassed, he was always left with a sense of horror.

Through his shirt, Pietro fingered the sturdy piece ofleather strap which rested against his chest, an automaticgesture. He always wore it on a thin length of twinearound his neck. When he felt a fit coming on, he wouldplace it between his teeth so that he would not bitethrough his tongue.

I cannot remember my home, or my family. His tone

became matter-of-fact. It was never wise to become emo-tional, and he did not intend to tell Lucky about the fits.I can remember nothing but the Convent of the SacredHeart where they took me when I was eleven years old. Iwas told that I had been wandering the streets of Milanoliving on scraps from rubbish bins in the alleys behindrestaurants and cafes. I dont know how I got there, and

they told me that I could say nothing but my name, Pietro,over and over. It was many months before I spoke anymore, they said.

Pietro was gratified by Luckys avid attention he hadwanted to impress his new friend but he didnt wish to

32 H E R I T A G E



15/21

sound sorry for himself, so he smiled. There were manywar orphans at the convent, and they played us music on

the gramophone, so I called myself Toscanini.You must forgive me, Pietro. I am too nosy, I alwayshave been, it is a flaw in my nature. Lucky had seen theflicker in the boys eyes as hed embarked upon his story,and he chastised himself. There were many on the Snowywho had pasts they did not wish to revisit. The boy hadbeen traumatised and he should not have pushed him. Iam sorry.

But there is no need to be, Pietro insisted, surprised byLuckys obvious remorse. I wished to tell you my story.

One day I will tell you mine, my young friend. Luckygrinned as he rose, tapping a finger to his bloodhound eye.How I came by this, eh? But for now, I will get youanother beer.

Ever since that night, Lucky had taken Pietro under his

wing. He had encouraged him to attend the English classesheld in the mess hall two nights a week, and Pietro hadapplied himself diligently. And when Lucky had invitedPietro to the home of his friends, Miroslav and Vesna,he had encouraged the boy to practise his new language.Pietro had been shy at first, but it had been Vesna who hadput him at his ease.

My English is too bad, she had said, and when herhusband had laughed, she had demanded, Why is wrong?

My English, too, is bad, Miroslav had corrected her.Yes, most bad, she had agreed. So we is practise

together, Pietro.It had been easy after that, and Pietro had become good

friends with Vesna as they clumsily helped each other

master the language.She told him her background. She was Serbian, she said,and Miroslav was Croatian, and they came from towns justa mile either side of the border. But they hadnt met in the oldcountry; they had met in Australia eighteen months before.

J UD Y N UNN 33



16/21

All my life Miroslav live two mile away, she laughed,and I meet him first week I am in Brisbane.

Miroslav had been in Brisbane for three years whentheyd met and, having served out his two-year DisplacedPersons contract, had received his accreditation as anengineer. They had fallen in love the moment they firstmet, Vesna said, much to the disapproval of their respec-tive families. Miroslavs brother, who had also emigrated,had severed all ties with him.

The Serbs and the Croats, she said, is much hate. Butfor Miroslav and me, we leave this behind. We is Australianow. Is new life here.

Pietro vehemently agreed with her. He, too, was embrac-ing his new life, feeling himself grow stronger with eachweek that passed. Just as the physical labour honed andstrengthened his body, so the company of his fellowworkers and the gradual ability to communicate strength-

ened his belief in himself.But it was Lucky who had made the deepest impression

upon him, for it was Lucky who had taught him to lovethe landscapes of his new country.

On a Sunday, several weeks after Pietros arrival, thetwo had travelled the countryside together in one of theLand Rovers to which Lucky appeared to have constant

access. He had earned the right. He was Rob Harveysmost valued foreman, not only because of his communica-tion skills and his popularity with the men, but for the factthat he doubled as a motor mechanic. Although not offi-cially qualified, there was very little Lucky didnt knowabout cars. They were his obsession, and he would happilyspend all his recreational time tinkering with engines that

needed attention. Rob Harvey quite rightly considered itonly fair that Lucky should have a vehicle at his readydisposal.

They had driven into the mountains and pulled upbeside the banks of the mighty Snowy, and Lucky had

34 H E R I T A G E



17/21

painted the pictures in Italian for Pietro. Normally heinsisted upon speaking English to further the boys educa-

tion, but hed wanted to communicate his passion.During the snowmelt, Pietro, hed said, she roarsdown the mountain like herds of wild white horses. She ismagnificent. Hed been silent for a while, before addingwith a touch of regret, I sometimes think it is sad that weare harnessing her. Then hed started up the Land Roverand theyd driven still higher, to where the track ended andwhere, far above them, the craggy tips of the Snowies wereclothed in white.

Your new mountains, Pietro. Perhaps not as high asyour alps in Italy, but just as splendid, do you not agree?Pietro had nodded, and Lucky had said, They are yourhome now.

As theyd wound their way back down the track, Luckyhad waved through the windows, an all-embracing gesture

at the trees passing by. Just look at them, hed said admir-ingly, and Pietro had. They were so varied, hed thought,different from the alpine forests he could still vaguelyrecall. Some were black and stunted, while the pure whitetrunks and graceful limbs of others shimmered in the sun.

The trees are like women, Pietro, Lucky had smiled.See how the blackbutt bends? She looks plain now, but

when winter comes she will accept her burden of snowwith ease, for she is a contortionist and she knows she ispretty in white. And the snow gum, hed added, with amock frown of disapproval, the snow gum is shameless.She is a hedonist, basking in the sun. She is white andvirginal now, but in the early autumn, she will flaunt hersummer tan and turn a deep shade of terracotta. Hed

laughed out loud, thoroughly enjoying himself.And now I will show you Monaro country. It is a goodtime of year for you to see it, before the snow covers thehigh plains.

When they were back in the valley, his mood had again

J UD Y N UNN 35



18/21

become serious. You thought this land was barren whenyou first arrived, Pietro, but you were wrong. There are

whole worlds that live in these hills and plains.And hed driven Pietro through a landscape that madehim breathless with its beauty and variety. A landscape ofrolling hills and grassy valleys. Of escarpments overlook-ing vast, treeless plains where the orange heads of thekangaroo fronds mingled with the silver-gold of the nativegrasses to ripple in the summer breeze like a massive multi-coloured river.

It is so alive, Pietro said as they gazed across the plain.He was reminded of the childrens picture book SisterAnna Maria had given him for his thirteenth birthday,Animals of Africa it had been called. It looks like a sea oflions manes, he said. The countryside was taking on anew life to Pietro as he viewed it through Luckys eyes.

Then they were in the granite belt, where huge mottled

grey stone sculptures grew out of the soil, infinitesimallylarger with the passing of each century as the ground waswashed away from beneath them.

They wandered among the clusters of giant bouldersstrewn about the rocky plains, many the size of houses.Perhaps, in a thousand years, they might be the size ofskyscrapers, Lucky had mused. But then perhaps they

will be dust. Who can tell?Here and there, the countryside was dotted with the

stamps of mans intervention. The picturesque groves ofimported poplars had been planted as memorials to fallensoldiers following World War I, Lucky had explained.Although they had a shorter lifespan than the indigenoustrees, the poplars were nonetheless hardy, the mature tree

sending up suckers and reinventing itself well before itsdemise, in order to ensure the survival of its species.A fitting choice for a memorial to the dead, hed said.During the drive back to Spring Hill, Lucky had been

aware that his passion for the countryside had been passed

36 H E R I T A G E



19/21

on to the boy, just as he had intended, and he was glad.This land and its history are ancient, Pietro, he said, as

ancient as time itself. But as a civilisation, it is only justbeing born, and we are a part of that birth. The birth ofthis country is our own rebirth. It will nurture and protectus, and we will repay it with our love, for we are free here.Free of all that haunts us, he said meaningfully. He hadnot brought up the subject of Pietros past since their earlyconversation and he had no intention of doing so now.Free to build a new life in a country without hate.

The day had indeed had a profound effect upon Pietro.On their return to camp in the late afternoon, hed feltlight-headed and, with Luckys words still ringing in hismind, strangely reborn. It no longer seemed to matter thathis childhood was lost to him.

Pietro Toscanini couldnt remember a time when he hadbeen happier. He belonged here, he thought. Here in the

Snowy Mountains and the high plains of the Monaro. Hewas part of this country now, just as Lucky had said. Andhe would prove himself worthy of it. He would embracethis land. As Lucky had.

J UD Y N UNN 37



20/21

If you loved

Heritageyoull loveJudy NuNNs New book

Available 20 October 2011

Theres so much more at

randomhouse.com.au/judynunn
http://www.randomhouse.com.au/judynunnhttp://www.randomhouse.com.au/judynunn


21/21

The Master ofAustralian

Storytelling

Other books by

Documents

Heritage by Judy Nunn Sample Chapter