CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: STAGE FRIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

STAGE FRIGHT

The Premier’s train left mid-morning heading westwards. The mood in the carriage was jocular—the job was almost done, the prize was almost theirs. But as the train crossed the Nepean River at Emu Plains, leaving the scattered outposts of the city behind and beginning its ascent, the mood changed. From the window they saw blue gum-covered crests and gullies that rose and plummeted in a breathless infinity. Those who had never before made the journey over the mountains fell silent; those who travelled this way regularly felt a pride in their country that they would have blushed to express in words. The most hardened parliamentary soul was stirred by the sight.

At Katoomba the train stopped briefly so that the people could cheer and the officials from the local Federal Executive could greet the Premier, and so that the members of the party could exit the train briefly to stamp their feet on the frozen ground, slap their hands briskly together and watch their breath turn to vapour before their eyes.

And now the train began its slow and winding descent to the plains below, arriving into Bathurst in the late afternoon. Here more crowds awaited them, another mayor, yet more aldermen, and both the district and the city bands played a triumphal welcome. The procession to the town hall was led by the fine strong men of the Bathurst Fire Brigade and behind the official party the people followed on foot, counting in their hundreds. At the town hall there was champagne enough for a great many worthy persons’ health to be toasted, after which the party dined at a local hotel. The culmination of the day was the address that evening to be held at the School of Arts, where upwards of twelve hundred persons awaited and where every prominent citizen and his wife was soon gathered on a platform that creaked beneath their combined weight.

The hall was festooned: ribbons and bunting and flags hung from every place that it was possible to hang something, and pretty young ladies wore Federation ribbons pinned to their breasts and the mayor and his many aldermen fairly swelled with civic pride.

The Premier was in fine spirits, shaking every hand and slapping every back and kissing every lady’s hand. He exchanged hearty words with the massed gentlemen of the press and he posed for a photograph.

‘Gentlemen, please take your seats,’ cried an official who wore a large watch on a chain and being the only gentleman in the room who did not smile and make jocular declarations for his job it was—and a thankless job too—to keep the address to time. There was another train to catch, if not tonight then early on the morrow. ‘Gentlemen, please!’ he urged.

And the platform creaked as the Premier took his chair.