24.3.11 - The iron and the bush (Iron Knob, South Australia)

25.3.11 – The iron and the bush (Iron Knob, South Australia)

Afternoon tea in Iron Knob

Whyalla exists because of the iron ore deposits in the nearby mountains, discovered in the 1840’s - Iron Monarch, Iron Baron, Iron Duke, and, the first to be worked, in 1899, Iron Knob. Here, men came to chip the blue-black stone out of the rusty mountains, in temperatures of 50 degrees or more, living in tents, in some cases with their wives and families. Work was long, heavy and dangerous, conditions were harsh, such water as they had was ballast water from the boats arriving at Whyalla, dragged to them 35 miles across the bush. But they maintained their dignity, keeping their children neat and clean and their collars white.

Signs for Iron Knob Hotel

Over the years, the town of Iron Knob grew up, flourishing at 3,500 inhabitants, with its own school, two churches, shops, cricket pitch and all the amenities a little town needs. But in 1999, the mine closed. One of its present 250 inhabitants showed us round what is left – a ghost town now. The stationer’s shop stands empty, faded adverts over the door. There’s a signpost for the Hotel, but all it points to is rubble. The garage’s forecourt is dusty, the petrol pumps abandoned. There’s no Policeman in the little cement Police Station, no pastor in the little corrugated iron church. The cricket pitch has been reclaimed by the bush. Many houses are empty, dusty windows, yards dried up. Here and there, a garden full of flowers stands out proudly. Only the tiny Post Office is still functional – ‘If we lose that, we lose our postcode and we cease to exist’. I asked what he thought the town’s future was. ‘Uncertain’ he says. They are going to reopen the mine next year, but apparently the workers will be bussed in from Whyalla. ‘I don’t think the government wants us here’ he says.

Iron Knob mine

The townsfolk run their own visitor centre, including this tour, using any profits to try and support their tiny community. Our minibus heads out on the rough orange sandy track, steep up to the rim of the old mine. An immense, deep, oval hole appeared at our feet, the mountain torn and naked; terraces, formed by different levels of workings, scratching its steep sides. He’s proud of its awe-inspiring size, the wide vistas of flat bush we can see from its rim. He tells us of one man in 1915, whose shovel filled fourteen five-ton wagons in one day. He hands us a smallish rock, blue/black on one side, red on the other. It’s unexpectedly heavy. ‘That’s what he was shovelling’. He recalls that the ‘Knobbies’ as they call themselves, through their rugged strength and determination, created much of Australia’s wealth and helped her through two world wars. We drive off through the bush, a thread of sadness following us.

The bush from the edge of the mine

I’ve often heard about ‘The Outback’ and ‘The Bush’ but never actually seen it, until today. Our road lay ruler straight to the horizon in front and behind, with scarcely another vehicle to be seen, except the occasional immense shiny Road Trains. On either side also it’s flat to each horizon, covered in grey-green bush about ankle to calf height, peppering the orange soil. Lonely trees stand out here and there, like short fat sentinels keeping watch. It’s very quiet. In the distance, heavy rain clouds trail their skirts across the ground. A wedgetailed eagle flies overhead, pursued by several smaller birds – he swoops and spins, but can’t throw them off. If you were out of sight of the road, it would be very easy to get seriously lost, as all too many people have done, with dire consequences – no water, no shade, no food. But the Aboriginal community can cope with it – this has been their land for tens of thousands of years, and they know how to survive in sympathy with this unforgiving but beautiful landscape.