lean-to shacks. The sun-bleached sign of Cobb and Co still swung over a corner building which had once served a thriving, boisterous community. Now its broken doors rattled in the wind, its windows boarded up like blind eyes in a wrinkled face. This end of town had once boasted eleven shanty pubs and an overflowing population of tent-dwelling diggers, including 12,000 Chinese fossickers.
Doc was here to pay a social visit to Long Sam, Hoffnungâs last surviving âCelestialâ, one of the 20,000 who had arrived in Victoria in a single year, equalling the number pouring off ships from Britain and Europe. Some had later returned to China, others remained in the Colony to become successful businessmen.
Doc did his best to keep an unofficial eye on Long Samâs health, a difficult feat considering the man was too proud to visit him as a patient. Reduced to poverty and a lonely life in a decrepit shack, Long Sam tended the Chinese graves of his last four friends in the cemetery, and to supplement his frugal diet, grew herbs and vegetables in his small patch adjacent to the creek.
Doc was never resigned to the fact that Long Sam and his four fellow countrymen were once famous for their cabbages and had supplied the whole town with vegetables grown on the land they had cleared and farmed beside the Lerderderg Creek. Councillor Twyman had commandeered the farm of the last survivor, Long Sam, for the townâs use as Hoffnung Cricket Ground. Doc knew that Long Sam had been paid nothing, on legal grounds that he had not officially owned any title to the land.
Here, the sole area that was sealed off from invasion by dogs, bush animals and the pranks of schoolboys was Long Samâs vegetable plot. An ironic reminder of the past, it was fenced with curiously marked timber palings, their flecks of bright paint sole evidence of the Joss House where Chinese diggers had once worshipped.
Docâs horse-drawn cart came to a halt in front of the neat stone pathway to the cabin, the borders of which were unfenced but marked out by a line of white-washed quartz stones. Long Samâs straw coolie hat rose above the vegetables he had trained along the trellis and his face broke into a welcoming smile.
âDoc Hundey, how good to see you. You have time to take tea with me?â
âI was counting on that, Sam. No tea as refreshing as your China tea.â
Sam chuckled with pleasure and hurried off to bring the mugs of tea.
Doc joined him on the log seat and after admiring his garden and casually mentioning the news from China he had read in the newspapers, he opened up the subject of his visit.
âYou remember Herbie Muddlestone, the old digger at Barnabyâs Ridge? He told me your cabbages were the worldâs best.â
Long Sam nodded and smiled. âVery kind old gentleman, he is well?â
âHe thought highly of you too, Sam. I was with him last night. He died peacefully in his sleep. He had ordered new spectacles but never got to wear them. He asked me to pass them on to you in case they were of any use to you.â
Sam was clearly moved by the unexpected gift. He opened the case with care and ceremoniously placed the glasses on his nose. His face broke out in a radiant smile.
âYou have grey eyes, Doctor. I can see the colour of the lorikeets clearly â no longer a blur. How kind of Mr Herbie to think of me.â
Doc smiled and looked away. He had learned over the past ten years how to conceal a lie that hurt no one. He had ordered the spectacles to be made up by an optician in Bitternbird, following his own rough calculations of Samâs eyesight taken without his knowledge.
âI can have them adjusted for you if one eye is short or long sighted.â
âNo, no,â the Chinaman hugged them to his chest as if threatened by the loss of them. âThey are perfect.â
Doc gave a sigh of satisfaction.
âI suppose you heard what happened this morning. You know
Doc was here to pay a social visit to Long Sam, Hoffnungâs last surviving âCelestialâ, one of the 20,000 who had arrived in Victoria in a single year, equalling the number pouring off ships from Britain and Europe. Some had later returned to China, others remained in the Colony to become successful businessmen.
Doc did his best to keep an unofficial eye on Long Samâs health, a difficult feat considering the man was too proud to visit him as a patient. Reduced to poverty and a lonely life in a decrepit shack, Long Sam tended the Chinese graves of his last four friends in the cemetery, and to supplement his frugal diet, grew herbs and vegetables in his small patch adjacent to the creek.
Doc was never resigned to the fact that Long Sam and his four fellow countrymen were once famous for their cabbages and had supplied the whole town with vegetables grown on the land they had cleared and farmed beside the Lerderderg Creek. Councillor Twyman had commandeered the farm of the last survivor, Long Sam, for the townâs use as Hoffnung Cricket Ground. Doc knew that Long Sam had been paid nothing, on legal grounds that he had not officially owned any title to the land.
Here, the sole area that was sealed off from invasion by dogs, bush animals and the pranks of schoolboys was Long Samâs vegetable plot. An ironic reminder of the past, it was fenced with curiously marked timber palings, their flecks of bright paint sole evidence of the Joss House where Chinese diggers had once worshipped.
Docâs horse-drawn cart came to a halt in front of the neat stone pathway to the cabin, the borders of which were unfenced but marked out by a line of white-washed quartz stones. Long Samâs straw coolie hat rose above the vegetables he had trained along the trellis and his face broke into a welcoming smile.
âDoc Hundey, how good to see you. You have time to take tea with me?â
âI was counting on that, Sam. No tea as refreshing as your China tea.â
Sam chuckled with pleasure and hurried off to bring the mugs of tea.
Doc joined him on the log seat and after admiring his garden and casually mentioning the news from China he had read in the newspapers, he opened up the subject of his visit.
âYou remember Herbie Muddlestone, the old digger at Barnabyâs Ridge? He told me your cabbages were the worldâs best.â
Long Sam nodded and smiled. âVery kind old gentleman, he is well?â
âHe thought highly of you too, Sam. I was with him last night. He died peacefully in his sleep. He had ordered new spectacles but never got to wear them. He asked me to pass them on to you in case they were of any use to you.â
Sam was clearly moved by the unexpected gift. He opened the case with care and ceremoniously placed the glasses on his nose. His face broke out in a radiant smile.
âYou have grey eyes, Doctor. I can see the colour of the lorikeets clearly â no longer a blur. How kind of Mr Herbie to think of me.â
Doc smiled and looked away. He had learned over the past ten years how to conceal a lie that hurt no one. He had ordered the spectacles to be made up by an optician in Bitternbird, following his own rough calculations of Samâs eyesight taken without his knowledge.
âI can have them adjusted for you if one eye is short or long sighted.â
âNo, no,â the Chinaman hugged them to his chest as if threatened by the loss of them. âThey are perfect.â
Doc gave a sigh of satisfaction.
âI suppose you heard what happened this morning. You know
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