We who live in the greatest City and mother State of Australia are sometimes in danger of making the mistake that the limits of the Commonwealth are confined to the narrow extent of our own travel. That such is very wide of the mark was forcibly impressed on the writer when he undertook the railway journey across Australia.
     There is something of interest, novelty, and charm in this unique journey; the vastness of Central Australia's impressive emptiness seems to draw ink from the pen of any denizen of a crowded, noisy, bustling city — hence the present effusion. To one accustomed daily to the ten minutes' walk to the station, then a quarter-of- an-hour's travel between roofs and walls and chimneys, with streets running at right angles and wrong angles accommodating perambulators, scooters, push-bikes, buses, taxis, and multitudinous other means of transportation, the journey culminating in a single-handed combat with a thousand frenzied folk for a clear passage through the subway with nice, clean, shiny tiles on both sides and overhead, and sparking lamallae of mica under foot — to one accustomed to all that sort of thing, the best part of a week's travel almost uninterrupted as to time, and entirely so as to bustle and worry, has a certain attraction, amounting even to fascination.
     The journey begins in Sydney and ends in Perth — or in Fremantle if the traveller goes straight on to complete the trip from the Pacific to the Indian

Port Augusta Station, S.A. Narrow-gauge train on right

Ocean. Most railway men know the trip as far as Adelaide. From there to Terowie, the break-of-gauge station, is noted from the traveller's point of view for the frequency of stops and the speed between them. The country traversed is fairly fertile, the transition from the well-watered districts to those less favoured being almost imperceptible until Terowie is reached. Then one realises that it is different country. Even the platform will hardly accommodate the train's complement of passengers. When the narrow-gauge train started we found that we had left fertility and visible prosperity temporarily behind and were in a new world of creaks, groans, sand, and barrenness. The railway seemed to follow more or less what might have passed for the bed of a creek had a few inches of rain fallen; as it was, a small pool was passed every few miles, marked by the presence of at least one green and almost flourishing tree, and occasionally half-a-dozen sheep. But in this locality animal life was practically restricted to a horse or two at stations, where these existed.
     After the first 30 miles had been negotiated without any remarkable change in the scenery, a new thrill was experienced. We had read of "the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended," but had never anticipated seeing sunlit plains extending upwards and then train-wards. First, we saw a dust-cloud approaching, and decided to keep it out; accordingly all windows were shut. Then we felt suffocation approaching, and decided to blow it out; accordingly, windows were opened. And so it went on. Night-fall brought relief, in that we could not see the dust outside. Inside, the carriage presented the appearance of a sitting-room carpeted in brick-red with an irregular foot-print design, and chairs coloured to match.
     Arrived at Port Augusta, the start of the Trans-continental railway, the first trick is to transfer luggage from the narrow-gauge train to the station, endeavouring to keep the hands perfectly clean. This, it is understood, has never been completely done, even by experts. It is then a comparatively easy task to find one's compartment in the standard-gauge train. It is 10.30 p.m. and beds are made up. You sink your head into the softest and coolest of pillows, glide blissfully out of the station with neither demur nor consent, and another night is lost in unconsciousness as you at last commence the long-anticipated run over the Commonwealth railway.
     One of the first things for which one has to bless the management of this system is the provision of a shower on the train. In spite of the nature of the country traversed a good supply of water seems to be carried, and the passenger, after the uninspiring and somewhat dusty run from Terowie, appreciates this refresher on awakening, likewise the antecedent tea and biscuits in bed. Next thought is of breakfast, but just at the psychological moment, so to speak, the train stops at Tarcoola. This is the first opportunity of viewing the complete train in daylight, also of alighting and forming an impression of the country. The average stopping time is about twenty minutes, and, despite the ability to walk the entire length of the train while it is in motion, opportunity of an unconfined walk is welcome.
     The train is invariably a large one, as Australian trains go, as a dining-car and lounge-car are carried on all trains, in addition to the ordinary

The "Trans" Dining Car

sleeping-carriages. On one side of the line is a railway settlement; the station appears to be town hall, general store, post office, and most other institutions combined. Some of these settlements are large enough to support a tennis court, and it was quite interesting on the second day out from Port Augusta to see a tennis match in progress in the heart of Australia. But this is anticipating. A row of pepper-corn trees runs along the village side of the line at Tarcoola, and sets off the place effectively.
     Leaving Tarcoola the journey is continued through sand-hill country, strangely reminiscent of a light swell at sea. Evidently what hilliness there is, is the outcome of wind action on the sandy surface of the region, for the hills are only 10 to 15 feet in height, and run strictly parallel with each other, at almost equal distances apart, as far as eye can see on either hand, like waves continuing in an endless succession of undulations to the horizon. Curving gently here and there the line runs through this country, the only sign of civilisation being the charred remains of a fettler's fire at uncertain intervals, the skeleton of a one-time tent, or an empty tin. Vegetation, though stunted, is by no means scarce. The mallee tree is everywhere conspicuous, and the ground is covered by more than a sprinkling of under-growth. As we progressed, we noticed the appearance of salt-bush among the undergrowth and at the same time the trees gradually diminished both in number and in size, until all the vegetation that remained apart from the carpet of shrubs was an occasional isolated tree, perhaps 6 or 8 feet in height, and more than a hundred yards removed from its next neighbour. Finally the last trace even of these disappeared altogether, and early in the afternoon we found ourselves on the famous Nullarbor Plain.
     For hundreds of miles not a tree of any description is seen, save only the inevitable pepper-corn at stopping-places. The surface, however, is far from bare, being covered with an abundance of salt-bush and blue-bush which grow to a height

The Nullarbor Plain

of about 18 inches, and by virtue of the fact that the leaves absorb dew, which falls abundantly in this region despite the scarcity of rain, flourish all the year round. Instead of the sandy waves left behind, nothing is seen but an almost level, treeless plain stretching away to meet a cloudless sky in the distance. Fortunately a breeze had sprung up, and the day was delightfully fresh. We learned on reaching one station that just a week previously the shade temperature had been 118 degrees, with a strong head-wind blowing, and the enginemen had been unable to take the train on till dusk. Our experience was anything but trying, and although no change relieved the sameness of the landscape it was interesting to stand beside the train at stations and look beyond the loco. water tanks and running-sheds to an otherwise unbroken horizon. In addition to the novelty of the scenery attention was attracted by the appearance quite frequently of groups of real Australians, who appeared to have imbibed at least the essentials of the white invaders' language, and whose dress would have roused the ire of the fashion experts of any country. Sights and sounds mingled in weird discord; one dusky belle flaunted a bright vermilion hat — evidently newly acquired - while clamouring, not altogether vainly, for "Baccy, baccy!" The gentry of the tribe were even more

"Gibbit Tik-pen"

voluble, and had also been so far educated as to insert a verb here and there in their conversation, which was carried on chiefly by grins, grimaces, and gestures. There was something strangely pathetic in the modesty of one old gentleman, clad in a sock, a sand-shoe, and one or two other garments, who gave voice to his inmost noble feelings in the words, "Gibbit tik-pen!" You smile, I know, and wonder wherein the modesty lies; but not so fast. Not a few of his contemporaries, bolder faced if not more attractively attired, thrust their presence upon us with the not imperious demand, "Gibbit chillin'." Even the children of the community, not to be outdone by their more eager elders, approached one and another with coyness amounting in some cases almost to charm; but was it the sense of propriety forbade them naming the sum? Perhaps to them all coins of the realm were alike; it sufficed them to state their case in the very elastic terms, "Gibbit money." The wiliest among the tribal ancients fell an easy victim to the sight of silver; so portraits were posed for, implements of war changed hands, sable faces expanded with glee, pockets barely bulging were doubtfully enriched, till the train conveyed the good-humoured and much-amused victims from the scene of conflict, soon to rain another silver shower on a cousin tribe.
     "And the sun went down, and the stars came out," but the train sped on and on. If the day had been ideal, the night was more so. It was a pleasure now to stand on the trailing platform of the carriage and enjoy the evening coolness. Looking ahead, the sight was sufficient to instil terror into the heart of any superstitious race. The man who invented fire-belching dragons must have seen a train with high power electric headlight. Before us was a widening beam of

Cook

whitest light, scattering and diffusing till the artificial whiteness merged with nature's darkness, and spent itself in the night. Behind us trailed a murky blackness: empty, void, dense. Below us a bogie creaked as the carriage swayed, tyres pounded a lightly ballasted track, flanges sang as they held the train to its course, and earth ran from us to the tune of thirty-five miles an hour. Beside us a faint streak of shimmering light, shed from carriage windows, marked the length of the train, its soft evenness broken by the salt-bush and blue-bush that lined the road. Beyond, a darkly vague emptiness, itself unseen and unknown, its bound marked where the last star glinted above the circle of earth, and the jewelled sky began. But above us — what shall we say? If beneath mile after mile of a little world sped by, its distances conquered by man's aggression, overhead were unconquered, uninvaded worlds on worlds, untarnished by the march of civilisation, their silence unbroken by the jubilant exultation of man's little joy, or by the stifled sob wrung from humanity's breast when calamity seems to overwhelm. Not a star of all that host but might have held its chin aloft and passed our poor, mean earth unnoticed by; but such sanctimony is reserved for the proud among earth's quasi-mighty — heaven's much more mighty are far less proud, and not a gleam from the farthest star was withheld, that this little earth's short night should not be cheerless. We had heard much, and enjoyed more, of Queensland's sub-tropical autumn nights, when one stands beneath the canopy lost in illimitable depths of clear space; but here was a new experience. Only the milky way was distinctly distinguishable as it followed us through the desert; but so densely was the night sky studded with stars that one scanned the heavens long and intently for the Southern Cross before search was rewarded, though the direction was known exactly.
     A breeze had arisen, and was accentuated by the speed of the train. The air began to get chilly, so we decided to try the lounge, where the Commonwealth railways very considerately provide a piano for the entertainment of passengers.

The "Trans" Lounge Car

     The second day out from Port Augusta proved to be one of the few on which rain falls along the East-West route. On waking, a chilliness was noticeable in the air, and the sky was overcast — a great contrast with the previous evening. Toward midday, while waiting on a siding, an Eastbound goods train stopped beside us. In a fraction of a second we became aware that a large party of blacks were shifting camp, having a picnic, or enjoying some such diversion. Gorgeously apparelled men, women, and children leapt from almost every truck. Some scampered for the cover of the bush; for we were now in wooded country, having escaped the monotony of the

The "Trans" train en route

Nullarbor Plain. Chief among these were the women and younger children. A few men there were, but these quickly reappeared with boomerangs and other native toys, which were eagerly exhibited to an interested and admiring public, and in not a few cases changed hands. The less skilful, or less industrious, were content to face the camera, which proved quite as lucrative a business to the subject as it was amusing to the by-standers. Even the disappointed vendor of weapons took slackness of trade philosophically, and remained friendly — dwelling, no doubt, on the early arrival of another train. In the midst of the excitement the threatened rain began to fall, and our dark hosts fled to the shelter of their native scrub, accompanied by yells, dogs, and flies. Light rain continued till our arrival in the early afternoon at Kalgoorlie, but held up for the benefit of visitors to that historic town.

Near Kalgoorlie Railway Station

     We were told at school that the two important towns of the Western Australian gold-fields were Kalgoorlie and Coolgardie. Never let a teacher mention the two in the same breath again. The railway station at Kalgoorlie was perhaps the largest and most important since leaving Adelaide, for besides being the easternmost station of the West Australian State system, and the western terminal of the Trans-continental line, it also accommodates a certain local traffic, especially in merchandise. Leaving the station we were surprised to walk on to a spacious railway square in the middle of which is a fine war memorial, and on

Monument to Pat. Hannan, discoverer of Kalgoorlie goldfield

whose farther side is a commodious and modern hotel. When we reached the main street a further surprise was in store for us —the town is served by a complete system of electric trams. The shopping centre gave every indication of industry, though we learned that the goldfields, the town's sole support, appear to be on a gradual decline. Yet we had little dreamed of finding Kalgoorlie either so busy or so large a town.
     Almost two hours without even seeing a train seemed too good to be true; but even this had its end, and we found ourselves boarding the West Australian train for Perth. We found the cars well appointed, and fairly smooth-running in spite of the narrow gauge. The catch was to come. After tea, and later supper in the dining-car, we decided on a restful read before indulging in our last night's slumber on the westward journey. Accordingly we essayed to switch on the reading light, but to our dismay there was no response.
     After ten minutes' research on the subject we found that it was necessary to extinguish the main light before the reading lamp could be used. Compulsory, automatic economy! A peaceful read brought the last day's travel to a close, and we closed our eyes and awaited the morning and our arrival in the western capital.
     But to retrace our steps a little. You have heard of the proverbial garden over-grown with weeds The illustrious Lord Byron has told in few words of the decline of "Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage." Shakespeare wrote of "the battering siege of time's decay." You have gazed mournfully at pictures of the ruins of Pompeii. If you have seen, read and heard of all this, you will be able to visualise Coolgardie. An important town? A pathetic conglomeration of ruins. Bare skeletons of doorless, roofless, windowless cottages, built of solid stone to outlast the rage of "sad mortality," offer grim evidence of the fate than can swiftly overtake the fairest and richest of towns. Once the centre of tireless activity, the source of fabulous wealth, now an object for the deepest pity of every being who retains a spark of human sentiment. The barrenness of the central plains was expected, and consequently no surprise; the almost complete desolation of Coolgardie, only half-an-hour's run or less from prosperous Kalgoorlie, was the greatest shock of the whole journey.
     Morning found us near our journey's end. As with the run into Adelaide, the final stage before

Perth electric tram

reaching Perth is through scenic mountain country, and the first view one has of the city is from the Darling Ranges. Half-an-hour after this first appearance Perth is reached, and the passenger sets about acquainting himself with the beauty-spots of a city 2,600 miles by rail from home. To complete the distance from the Pacific to the Indian Ocean a train was taken to Fremantle, 12 miles farther on — a large and flourishing seaport.
     So the goal was reached.
     Perth is situated picturesquely on a river — the beautiful, broad Swan, as popular with the visitor by night as by day, and at all times a favourite.