Looking Back, Pressing Forward - The Essence of a Golden Town

The past, the present, the future, sketched on a blank page, waiting for the next chapter, a pathway forward into what is and what is to come.

Harry sat in thought, looking around the town that had been his home for almost a hundred years. He had witnessed many changes throughout his life.

The community precinct—the C.Y. Connor Precinct, complete with its library—had stood for fifty years and had recently celebrated its golden anniversary. Harry remembered when it was built, the fields that once lay there, and the old cricket pitch that had been a centerpiece of the neighborhood. 1975 had been a good year. Harry loved the library now. He enjoyed reading the newspapers, and chatting to the friendly staff. They were even brave enough to teach him a thing or two on the computer, a completely foreign world he was trying his best to get acquainted with.

Harry’s stomach growled, it was getting closer to lunch time, he was nearly ready to head over to the EGCC for a meal. His mouth watered, those cooks were among the finest in the whole country in his opinion. Good thing that back then the seniors in the Goldfields got together determined to build  what was called at the opening in 1988, the Eastern Goldfields Community Centre. The funds had been raised by the seniors themselves, but deliberately, they refused to call it a senior centre—they wanted the whole community to enjoy the facilities. Legendary people, people who had poured their blood, sweat, and tears into this town. Harry’s mind wandered. That reminds me… I forgot about Myrtle and William Grunt. Now, that was a story. Myrtle, a pioneering woman of her day, had left money bequeathed to Kalgoorlie to potentially create a fountain in honour of her husband. But in its wisdom, the Kalgoorlie and Boulder Councils who were on the verge of amalgamation used those funds to build the library instead. They picked the central location just about halfway between the two towns. But Harry could imagine the meetings, the back and forth, the arguing and deliberation about whether that was the “right spot.”

Harry chuckled, councils didn’t seem to have changed much, still arguing about this and that. But on the whole he reckoned they got things right some of the time. Harry reckoned he also got things right some of the time, so maybe he shouldn’t say too much about things.

The changes to the town were often driven by mining.

One of the biggest changes was the move from hand driven manual mining through the sweat of the brow to the introduction of mechanised mining. The tunnels that once were hand dug now engulfed in the Super Pit—the giant hole in the ground that kept expanding and bringing more people to town. The biggest open cut mine in all of Australia.

Harry saw a future full of potential. If the community embraced its history, celebrated it like other historical mining towns across Australia, perhaps they could draw throngs of visitors eager to experience its unique story even more than they already did.

Historic Hannan Street had changed quite a bit over the years. Once, it had been filled with big trams and horse-drawn carts; then came the Holden Commodores and Ford Falcons, Harry was sure there were other things in between but he’d never been a car guy. Nowadays, giant SUVs rumbled along the street streaked with red mud from the bush. Some carrying off shift miners into town.

Oh yes… And the miners themselves had changed too. They wore more protective gear these days—sturdy boots instead of thongs, long heavy-duty high-vis pants instead of shorts, and long-sleeved orange or yellow shirts, depending on their team. Thick shirts in that awful, relentless summer heat. Harry couldn’t imagine having to wear all that, but of course there were reasons why.

Change was of course inevitable.

But Harry remembered the good old days, when a simple T-shirt or singlet was enough.

Yeah, there were all kinds of things that had changed, but some parts of Hannans Street had stayed pretty much the same. The good old Exchange and the Palace, the once post office now courthouse with its clock tower now gleaming in real gold—Harry was impressed by that, and so were the many visitors who came to Kalgoorlie-Boulder. There was also the iconic pink Kalgoorlie Town Hall and the gracious, majestic Boulder Town Hall, red brick with crisp white highlights.

Boulder had changed too. It had once had a tram line. And Kalgoorlie and Boulder were once two completely separate towns—one for the bosses, one for the workers. Funny thing, though: the Boulderites still pledged allegiance to their town, and whenever anyone called the duo just “Kalgoorlie,” it ruffled feathers. One particularly passionate resident had even petitioned the West Australian TV news to officially change the name on the map to Kalgoorlie-Boulder. Harry had to chuckle. There were some mighty passionate people in this town—and that hadn’t changed in forever.

It was a place with a magnetic soul. People came and went, some pledging just a couple of years to work the goldfields, but many stayed a lifetime, falling in love with the peace, the quiet, the easygoing lifestyle. “How you going, mate?” and a smile were part of daily life.

The town had changed in that respect too. Back when mining was harsh and there were few women and families, resources were scarce—no electricity, little water—life was rough. Until good old C.Y. O’Connor performed the impossible, bringing water to one of the driest places in Australia and ensuring the miners could survive. He had done well, really well.

But yes, Kalgoorlie-Boulder had changed. There were more families now, more children. Harry remembered the last Spring Festival name after another stalwart Lorna Mitchell—he’d never seen so many kids in his life, and he was one of eleven himself.

Yeah, Kalgoorlie-Boulder was all right, mate.

And Harry… he was getting on in years, but he wasn’t ready to hang up his hat and be trundled off to the big city. He’d rather live out his days among the gum trees, the red dirt, and the quiet of a place that wasn’t really a city, wasn’t really just a town—it was a community. A place where people said hello in the streets, slowed down to smile at each other, maybe not perfect, but with everything you needed for a happy life. Harry was supremely glad to have been a part of all of that.

Later in his life Harry discovered the C. Y. O’Connor Men’s Shed, named after that gutsy engineer that they all had to thank for water. The Men’s Shed was just a little slice of the kind of community spirit Kalgoorlie-Boulder was known for. The shed had been built by the Council and opened in 2010, another remarkable addition to the community Harry loved. He cherished his visits to the men’s shed, where the sweet smell of wood and sawdust mingled with laughter and good conversation. The men (and ladies) talked about everything under the sun, but most of all, the past—the “good old days,” as they called them.

Yet Harry knew that the good old days of Kalgoorlie-Boulder were still ahead.

As he pressed save on his word document and ejected his USB from the public computer at the William Grundt Memorial Library he readied himself for a feast at the Eastern Goldfields Community Centre before a well earned nap and a chat at the C. Y. O’Connor Men’s Shed. Having this precinct gave him hope that his future was bright as bright as the gold bars they produced from the thousands of tonnes of rock they mined from the Super Pit, and the other mines around Kalgoorlie-Boulder.

Most of all he had confidence and excitement for the future because of the Goldfields spirit. Strong, tough, community minded, adventurous, brave, risk tolerant, and gritty. Mmm… yes… he was glad to have been able to type a few of his thoughts while he still was blessed enough to have them.

As he walked out into the glorious sunshine of a perfect Goldfields day Harry was thrilled to have been part of the story of Kalgoorlie Boulder that continued to write itself.