As I trudged up the gravel path from the 4th to the 5th tee, a glint in the gravel caught my eye; I stopped, ever curious. My sturdy leather golf shoe unearthed a purple piece of broken glass. Hexagonal and thick, the base with its inverted ball shape suggested a drinking glass from a time long past. I googled my find; Purple glass is made by adding manganese dioxide as a decolourizer, which has a tendency to turn different shades of purple when exposed to the rays of the sun or other ultra-violet light.
Yackandandah Golf Club is home to what is also known as the ‘Recreation Reserve’. From 1863 the grounds have been home not only to golf, first introduced in 1910, but also to horse racing, cricket and athletics. In another century it served as the local showground and was the site of many festivities. The most memorable of these is colloquially known as The Roasting of the Bullock, organized in honour of the coronation of Edward V11, on the 26th June 1902 (the coronation itself was delayed to Nov due to HRH’s ill health). A purpose-built pit was dug with relays of men working through the night to tend the spit and baste the beast in readiness for the feast to take place the following morning. The local ladies, and one man, baked a total of 108 plum puddings which were served hot from a ring of coppers temporarily installed near the fire pit. Celebrations included a street parade with store owners decorating their shop windows in competition. The local brass band led a procession to the Reserve from the High Street, taking an hour to walk while some travelled in buggies, gigs and spring carts; all eager to share in the feast.
I held the fragment of glass in my hands, wondering who would have been the last to do the same; was it held high when three cheers were raised to the new King? Or, perhaps it was a relic from the Hack Race day held on 27th December 1886, the day the Anderson family from Osborn Flat, like many of the locals, had been eagerly anticipating.
The pounding of hooves reverberated through the ground; it grew thunderous as the horses rounded the bend heading down the straight. Ellen Anderson closed her eyes, shut tight she dared not look. Excited yelling from the crowd flew at her in a flurry of curses and yelps of delight, dare she hope that William was riding the winning horse? Yes, she would forgive him although he had taken no heed of her caution not ride in any race. The same advice was offered by his older brother James. Abandoning all warnings, William accepted the offer of a ride from John Cure, owner of the ‘Brown Horse’, telling his brother, “I’ll be fine.” James was not convinced; he knew William was a keen rider, but doubted skilled enough to handle the frisky steed.
The final shout of hoorays from the punters told Ellen the race was over; she opened her eyes. Would it be William accepting congratulations, the proud champion jockey? It was not. Scanning the remaining horses and riders, she could not see her son, where was he? William Ryan, one of the jockeys, was talking to the officials; there was panic amongst those close enough to hear. Ryan pointed back toward a stand of trees, then they turned and ran. Ellen watched, uncertain what to do. Ducking under the makeshift rope barrier she too ran. Uncaring that her best hat blew from her head and her skirts flew out, she reached the place where the men had stopped. They allowed her to go no nearer her son who was lying motionless on the ground. Ryan was pointing to a large overhanging branch on a tree saying loud enough for Ellen to hear, ‘the horse bolted off the track, I saw William fall.’ The officials all nodding in agreement understood the cause of the accident. They called for Dr Mueller who was unable to assist the dying lad.
Was Ellen Anderson, the last person to hold the purple glass? Packed carefully that morning for the picnic her family had been looking forward to, did she drop it in fright, leaving it to be broken and trampled into the earth?
The Anderson family grave in the Yackandandah Cemetery bears the inscription:
WILLIAM, ACCIDENTLY KILLED DEC 27th 1886, AGED 15 YEARS
The Reserve today is a place of peace, the sound of pounding hooves long gone. Gnarled white gums are home to warbling magpies, raucous cockatoos and perfectly painted parrots. Magnificent vistas of the surrounding hills greet the eye of golfers and walkers alike. Each amble their way over the fairways, wrapped up in the present while I can’t help but think of the past. I pocket the piece of purple glass and continue up to the 5th; my rambling thoughts will have to wait.
AUTHORS NOTE: Dates of the historical events, all names and the death of William Anderson are referenced to documents held by the Yackandandah & District Historical Society. Also referenced: Yackandandah Golf Club 1910-2010, by Marian Barnard.
The description of the horse race is pure fiction, created by the author with a view to understanding a mother’s anguish.
