Brigitte Callaghan’s memories of the early years at Boggy Creek

 My involvement with Boggy Creek preceded the Shambala days. I was living at 24 Oratava Avenue WEST PENNANT HILLS with my ex-husband Mark Callaghan, and an old friend of his Jeremy Smith (Jerry) lived with us for a time and was a shareholder in the original property at Boggy Creek. We visited the original site, which later became Geoff and Dorothy’s home site, on a week long holiday when German Henry and his partner, PONTIP, and Bob Phillips were the main residents at the old house. More of a 3 sided shack with a deck open to the weather. As I recall we went to a party at Mark Giles, near Die Happy where I now live, and had to negotiate a rutted and greasy clay road in Bob’s old blue Holden ute. Back then we just held on for grim death as Bob went hell-for-leather up the track’s steep rutted inclines. It was a hair-raising experience and very memorable, as Bob was never in any doubt that he would not make it, even as we slipped and slid up or down the road. I can still picture his laughing face framed by his tie-back almost waist length hair. Perhaps the adrenaline rush that followed had some influence on me, or perhaps it was the spirit of the place that drew me back. I still remember the Die Happy party with so many eager new arrivals to the Bellingen shire, dancing, chatting around a huge open fireplace in Giles’ shack near the road. The evening sky bristling with stars provided a magic that living in the city could not imitate.  It was a journey that foreshadowed significant events yet to come.

When “Shambala” came up for sale Geoff Thomas was instrumental in getting a group together to discuss a way to extend the original property. A meeting was arranged at Dingly Dell, on the way to Round Corner in Sydney, a communal house where Brian and Jenny lived and Mark and I were invited to come. We had a group meeting and somehow decided we needed more people to buy the adjoining property. I think I suggested advertising in Earth Garden, this was how we met Pip Wilson and June, Colin and Wendy, and later Warren and Diane, and Paul Warburton. We arranged to meet Colin and Wendy, Pip and June and several others at Kangaroo Valley on a Quaker property, it hired cabins and that’s where we had our first shared experience of cooking and getting to know everyone. It was a special experience for me. It was here that we decided some of the principles of community that we were keen to establish. Others may remember the details more clearly and I know that Geoff was giving regular updates from his legal friend Vivian Abrahams. So we all knew that a cooperative was probably the best legal framework for our views. We purchased the property and it was through my personal health issues that prompted the decision to up stakes and move up to the land in 1978, with our daughter Kate, who was about 14 months old at the time. Initially we moved into Sylvia’s house, which was vacant and she was in the process of selling. We were only there for about 4 months when it was sold to Warren and Diane, who were keen to move in as soon as possible. Around this time Hughie and Debbie bought shares, they were friends of Warren’s from Wollongong. Pip and June soon followed us after selling their property in Sydney.  Jack Dalgano and Amanda his daughter also moved from Canberra, the community was growing and we held regular meeting at the main house on Shamballa, where Debbie now lives. Jerry met Robyn and romance blossomed, before long several more babies were on the way.

Moving from Sylvia’s was hard but everyone was supportive. A caravan arrived, Pip and June gave us their camping tent, which was large enough for a bedroom. In fact, it became our bedroom. Our wrought iron bed and side table fitted neatly in and the carport annex provided a place for gumboots and tools outside. The caravan became Kate’s bedroom, it was an old style 15 footer, mostly plywood from memory. John Bray managed to provide us with a green canvas army tent (3 sided,) which we used as a kitchen. We lived in the paddock with the ticks and leeches, across the creek from the main house, where the house that Mark later built currently stands. There we built a shack from reclaimed materials. It was initially a single room with a tin fireplace. The flooring was made from reclaimed slabs of a pre-existing floor. We had managed to get a kerosene fridge, it was painted black, and weighed a ton. I remember lighting it and refilling it regularly. We had kerosene lamps and pressure lamps that hissed and popped and the condensation from the evening was a thing I remember having to shield clothing from. We were lucky to get a dam built at a third of the cost due to the generous subsidy from Soil Conservation, who had their dozers in the area. For a while we had a basic shower set up. We heated the water on the stove and mixed it with cold water in a copper and we had an old wood-handled pump that you pumped from side to side and it syphoned water to the old-fashioned shower rose.  I managed to keep clean enough to go to work at the Bellinger Valley Motor Inn where I worked as a waitress several evenings a week.

We all had our own way of coping with the basics. I remember Diane used to put her washing in a plastic tub filled with water and soap and just the driving up and down the bumpy road would clean the clothes. We were all very inventive. French Henry was always concerned about the cow Mirabel and was very keen to build his own place. He had helped Mark build the shack, along with Jack Dalgano. Kids would go between houses for play dates and this gave us all a bit of time to get things done. Diane and I were mums at the same time and for different reasons we had our own anxieties. Whist I was pregnant with our second child I worried over getting to the hospital in time due to floods and the condition of the road. We ended up staying at a friend’s place for two weeks before Ned was born, it was a strain because Mark was working at the mill at Boggy Creek by then.

Despite the self-imposed hardships life was good. We saw ourselves as living the self sufficient lifestyle. We labelled ourselves “alternative” life-stylers, as we knew that being a “hippy” was a loaded term, and the people of the town were very suspicious of us. Regardless of what we called ourselves we were still the outsiders as far as the town’s folk were concerned, but I still managed to land work enough to provide the essentials. For Mark, it was especially important not to be labelled “dole bludgers.”  I used to cook for the community centre, and earn extra cash that way. I taught spinning and weaving there for a small fee, and I helped to put on an exhibition of local art and craft, which was very well received, except that the locals themselves did not attend in any significant number. All in a desperate bid to prevent the old school building from being torn down, which is what eventually happened. We had work bees where people donated paint and time to spruce up the old hall, and the community spirit was high and huge, but ultimately all in vain. Still it was my idea and I have not regretted being a person to make a plan, luckily we had tremendous support from a fledgling Arts and Crafts group. Mary Anderson who was a local government councilor was in attendance in the rooms, where I had an enormous loom made especially for the blind, how it came to be there is a story by itself. Mary is one of those rare individuals who gave great support to new-comers. Herself an ex-primary school teacher with true country gentility and a softly spoken voice to match.

Bellingen was a town divided in those days, looking back it was a wonder that we managed to establish ourselves and become the pioneers of a new way of living. We are talking about a town where The Good Food Café was deliberately burned, to send a clear message to “hippies,” though some say it was due to drugs mainly marijuana being smoked and possibly sold. Back then the community centre was a refuge for newcomers, so of course it had to go. We faced off the prejudices from the likes of Hughie Waugh who paid for a demonstration of loggers to breathe fear into the “greenies.” I was there working at the Federal Hotel at the time and decided to close the bar when the trouble started. There were fights out the back and loose tongues at the bar. People were warned not to go to town and many stayed away out of fear, it ran through the community like a virus. Looking back making the decision to build the school at Chrysalis was actually a necessity.

In hindsight, we had chosen to build bridges. I remember the dance which was organized at the Gleniffer Hall. I had the idea of doing an Irish stew with lamb and potatoes for everyone. Time was ticking and though I had all the ingredients I was in a panic. I was so grateful to Colin and Wendy and several others who spent hours peeling the sacks of potatoes a day or so before. In those days, word of mouth was as good as local radio. I still remember all the folks that turned up. Naturally the food was appreciated. On another occasion I organized a Mad Hatters Party, with fireworks, and half of Bellingen must have shown up in our front paddock. By this time, we had made progress on the house and we had a dance floor, actually it was the kitchen living room, and we’d put on a couple of kegs of beer. On this occasion quite a few of the locals also turned up. We charged a modest amount to cover cost of food and drink. The fireworks had to be handled carefully by someone with a license. Bob Phillips took care of this and even knew where to get a deal on the fireworks. It was quite exhilarating and people commented on how great it was to have the opportunity to socialise with their families. The fireworks were a great hit with everyone adding to the warm atmosphere of people sharing a relaxing time together. It was a pity that someone stole the kitty though. But I remember that soon after a friend of ours Richard Driscoll, a well known public bar piano-player, passed around the hat and managed to get back half the money.

I remember one party we went to at Tommy and Coral Bain’s house in Bellingen. They weren’t typical of the locals and took some pride in showing us hospitality. I recall that they were self-consciously bucking the trend. It’s hard to imagine that the delicatessen in town had only a couple of varieties of cheeses and that the greengrocer stocked mainly local marmandie tomatoes, never heard of a Gross Lizzy, and that to get more than that you went to Merinda Numerella, now Fuller’s. It was subtly understood that’s where the hippies got their veggies, ‘cause it was clear that the locals didn’t have such needs or peculiarities. The shop was essentially a roadside stall but the people who ran it were very friendly.

The first signs of major change began when Rhonda and her family bought the Federal Hotel and hired musicians for Wednesday nights. It became clear that the new comers to Bellingen were beginning to feel welcome. Bobby Bright’s band played there and so did Promised Land Jazz band. Grass roots activities like the Down-and Out–Follies, a review style evening at the community centre helped to bring people together. I cooked for the Friday night gathering at the community centre, initially set up by Gill Adams and her daughter Jenny. People with their kids would turn up for a cheap feed. On one occasion we must have had close to 80 people there. The popularity of the community centre aroused the ire of the locals and a public meeting was called. I remember the rumours were rife. Dr MacLachlan was one of the speakers, as was Peter Sanger, then either Deputy Mayor or Mayor (memory fails). Outrageous claims were made; “They bury their babies in the bush.” I remember Pip Wilson was there and the look of utter disbelief as he recollected his memory of the gathering when I caught up with him in the street soon afterward stayed with me. Pip later wrote a play about it many years later.  In hindsight it provided a convenient justification for pulling down the heritage buildings that were once the original school, so that the brand new council chambers could be built on the site, thus giving an unobstructed view of it from Hyde Street, without having to see the “hippies,” who parked their old bombs near the centre. I still recall the demonstration day, the day they pulled down what was once my weaving and spinning space. The area near the building was packed with protestors, and there were lots of local men yelling angrily at them. I spotted Big Jim wearing his usual red-checkered flannel shirt looking mean as usual, he was a loud mouthed local public bar giant, generally respectfully feared by the locals, with an angry disposition, he was there unmistakable relishing the opportunity to goad his enemies.  It was a sight I couldn’t forget because it was the day I left to go to Sydney. I had decided to leave Mark, and the scene was strangely ironic, because a chapter of my life was closing on the very site that I had found someone to share my new life. It is strange how the treads of fate had been woven together to give finality to the life I had been living. As we drove past I left with eyes downcast not wishing to see the gleeful faces of the locals I had seen and served all too often in the bar at the site where I had hoped to build my own life – the significance of the message was too personal not to miss.

Upon returning to Bellingen, for many years I felt I was fighting the same battles, but the battleground and the participants had changed. On many occasions I had to ask myself if I had made the right decision to live the life I thought would have the most meaning. Now that I was no longer in a partnership with Mark my options of remaining at Boggy Creek were almost non-existent. I found myself on the wrong side of the male hierarchy and I still remember Colin subtly telling me that there were no home sites on the property, and that the land up high on the Hospital Range Road was really the only feasible site. It was an out-of-sight-out-of mind situation and I still had to pay “my share” of the rates, which I did. I read the situation clearly that because I had decided to take the unconventional path and leave my children with my ex-husband that I was seen in some peculiar way as a threat to the community.  After a difficult breakup and a personal crisis, I decided to let go of the share. I sold my share back to the community for the same amount as I paid for it several years earlier.

Some years later when I was going through some personal affects I discovered one of Pip Wilson’s newsletters, one of the earliest copies of the Boggy Bugle.  I registered how courageous we had been, and I decided to write a letter to the community and send the newsletter back for their records. I knew they were going through a difficult period as this was when the Rufus McCratchet business was giving grief to everyone. I don’t remember the exact words I wrote only that I wanted to restate the value of community life, which I still believed was a noble ideal. In fact, I still believe that, but I have learned that people need to be educated to value such a life. Shamballa taught me that one of the first things that happens when people buy land together is that lines are drawn and boundaries are established. People mark their own territories. For me this was not how I envisaged life on a community. I remember one day when I was discussing an idea I had with Mark about how the community could establish gardens in front of our home site. My ex said; “Don’t be ridiculous Brigitte, we’re on an island here….we don’t want that.” I knew then that my efforts in the community, involvement with the recycling, the craft work, the community centre involvement were more important to me than him. I had washed clothes and nappies by hand for years. I had laboured to establish a home and worked hard to be part of my community. I was not a “dole-bludger.” I worked, earned a living, cared for my children but I was conflicted inside. I realize now how easily women take on their expected social roles and default to this position when power in relationships is not equally shared. Community life should liberate both men and women from this obligation to a greater degree, and communities that are established along lines of equality and the participation of all is one way to ensure that women, like myself, can feel they are entitled to a space when personal relationships fail. It is very easy to take for granted all of the benefits that we now mostly do take for granted, but for those of us who made our way north out of the rat race we will inevitably weigh up the cost to ourselves and our families. Perhaps if we knew then what we know now we would have chosen a different path, but we can at least feel that we have put down roots in soil that resisted the lives that we entrusted to it and that our children have shared in our struggles to make a better life for all.