Recently, my mother made the long trek from the big smoke to visit Mullum. She likes to check in on younger family members every couple of years, and it’s an excellent excuse to shake up Mr Sheen.
True to form, she travelled entirely by public transport for the princely seniors’ rate of less than three dollars. Born at the tail end of one of last century’s analogue wars, her body is a little marked by time, but she fiercely guards her independence and never misses a chance to save a buck.
We texted throughout the day, tracking her progress. When she transferred from rail to rubber at Casino, this was the official cue to start preparing dinner for her arrival. In years past, TransLink would roll into our once celebrated train station not long after dark, and I would drive to meet her amongst the campers. But this time she was not there. The touchdown point had since migrated.
We spoke on the phone. ‘I’m at the Mullum Coach Terminal’ she announced. Mmm, where might that be? I pondered. Outside Janelle’s newsagency? No, not there. ‘It’s very dark here, there are no cars,’ she responded, ‘…but I can hear music in the distance’. Ahh, she hears the Middle Pub, I concluded. She may have disembarked at the bus shelters behind the post office.
I arrived to find Mum sitting quietly framed by rubbish and graffiti, backdropped by the boarded-up, burnt-out, cyclone-fenced remains of the old dyb dyb dyb, dob, dob dob hall (past members must be wiping teardrops with their scarves) that also entertained stylish tango lessons in the evenings, and Echo transfers at sparrow’s. This location is now a truly spectacular introduction to our town.
When will we get our ‘landscaped parklet’? And will this demolition job also include a giant scout woggle installation as art? Should we assist by gathering funds? We could submit photos to film location companies. The location is the perfect backdrop for an indie post-apocalyptic piece. Or the poor sister to a wealthier tourist destination.
For four decades The Echo has printed the stories some people loved, some people hated, and some pretended not to read. If you want us to keep telling the truth, the real truth, not the sugar-coated version. We’ll need your support to keep the presses rolling. 
