A tale of two tiny towns: Weabonga and Nundle
There are two tiny historical villages up in the hills behind Tamworth. One is called Weabonga and is only accessible by a dirt road. The other is called Nundle and has a few more people, an operational pub and a pool (!).
Weabonga is where my Grandmother was born. It is where my Great Grandmother died of a heart attack at 52 after giving birth to 14 children. It is where my best friend Mel’s Dad still lives in the old police station, opposite the house my grandmother grew up in.
Weabonga is home to pure darkness and pure silence, two very rare commodities. It is also home to bikie-run speed labs, the odd marijuana crop and at least one eccentric old rifle-totin’ lady (the latter is my dementia-suffering Great Aunt Betty who is living proof that not all old ladies are sweet).
When I visited recently I was struck, yet again, by how much I love it there. It’s as though this exact geographic point on the map strikes a chord in me that goes way back beyond this lifetime. When I arrive, I find that I never want to leave. Subsequently, I immediately start trying to figure out how I can live in Weabonga and still be gainfully employed (I’ll keep you posted on that – there’s no mobile reception which is a bit tricky for a publicist).
The other place I was lucky enough to visit was the ultimate country party venue, The Dag Sheep Station. Located about five minutes down the road from the legendary Nundle pub, Mel’s Dad held his 60th birthday party here.
The theme was Cowboys and Indians, the open bar started at 5pm and there was a real farmer there from Farmer Wants a Wife. It’s possible that one of my city girl friends developed a bit of a crush (you know who you are!).
The Dag, as it is affectionately known, is an old sheep station that has been converted into a weddings, parties, anything venue. It sleeps over 100 people, it has a full bar and onsite catering, a stage and a range of accommodation options from el cheapo (but very comfortable) dorm rooms right up to chi chi la la cabins for the gentry.
There is a funny little stone building next to the creek which we later discovered is a sauna, a fully loaded apple tree and acoustically terrifying ‘dunnies’. Eeps.
I loved everything about my trip to Weabonga and Nundle. Proof, I guess, that you can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the girl …
Are you unnaturally attached to somewhere in the country? If so, where is it (and can we go camping there?)?