A Question of ?

You'd know Middle town, wouldn't you ? I am sure you would.

If you don't, you would probably know quite a few similar towns. Places which, for various reasons, are but shadows of their former selves.

Middletown is typical of these places. As the name suggests, it is about halfway across the Great Northern Plain and between the cities on the edges of the expanse.

The settlement grew as the increasing number of farmers and graziers arrived. Felling most of the magnificent stands of timber, they carved their holdings out of the bush. The fact that the village was on the bank of the Central River helped it attain a comfortable status in a fairly short time as small cargo vessels were able to trade between there and the nearest port. From early on, punts were used to ferry goods and passengers across but, with the building of the bridge, the trip became less hazardous. When the railway arrived the centre boomed as a focal point for the whole area with the vastly improved services to, and from, the cities.

Incidentally, the place was called Mitteldorf by the original German settlers but, in a burst of patriotism during the First World War, the name was Anglicised to its present form.

The whole area strode ahead for a couple of generations but various factors conspired to halt the progress. The depression, the weakening of prices for export produce, declining value of the currency, and the War, with its appalling toll of men who did not return, all contributed to the decline of the town.

After the Second World War, the main street, once a thriving thoroughfare lined with shops on either side, suffered a decline when a bypass was put in to take the traffic around the built-up area. This accelerated the decline as less people stayed to shop or even to holiday. After a while even the passenger trains did not stop.

The biggest blow, however, was a sequence of droughts and floods. The sages attributed these to the clearing of such a large area of forest which left the ground susceptible to the vagaries of the weather. A considerable amount of land became subject to erosion and many farmers saw their ground literally flowing into the creeks and rivers during heavy rain or blown away during disastrous dust storms.

Over-grazing was also cited as contributing to the problems. In addition, all the run-off of the spoil caused the river to silt up and make it useless for navigation. Drawing water for irrigation also became adversely affected, causing a noticeable decline in produce grown.

I used to call on various businesses in Middletown as part of the area I served as a traveller for a hardware company. In my early days on the road it was usual to spend at least one night there, such was the quantity of businesses to be called on, but, as the decline set in, the shops became fewer and eventually a couple of hours was sufficient to service the two or three calls necessary, and that often included a lunch break.

I had a soft spot for the town and possibly would have settled there, when I retired a few years ago, but circumstances dictated that we needed to be near medical facilities fairly regularly and these Middletown lacked.

A couple of weeks ago I got word that a friend of mine from early in my business career, we had both been reps for the same area but for different products, was seriously ill in the city on the other side of the plain so I made arrangements to visit him. Although the trip could comfortably be accomplished in one day I chose to break my journey at Middletown for an overnight stay. Mainly to catch up on those old friends who were still there but also, nostalgically I guess, to see just what was left of the town, as it had been quite a few years since I had been there. Usually we used the by-pass or sped by on the train.

I chose my accommodation, no big deal since there was only one hotel and a motel left operating, and settled in about mid-afternoon. I couldn't help but be reminded that some years earlier there had been at least a dozen hotels on the main street alone. A couple of phone calls and I had arranged to see my friends in the bar of the hotel.

Some time of pleasant reminiscing was spent but, as my friends had previous engagements for later, I could see that I could be at a loose end after the evening meal.

Since retirement, I had made a habit of going for a stroll, weather permitting, each evening and, with the weather calm and mild, I decided to make the walk a bit longer that night. Being summer, the light would linger on until quite late. The main street held no attraction for me as I knew virtually every building on it and, anyway, its present state depressed me when I recalled the street which I knew from years gone by.

Striking away from the business zone I came across what was obviously an older area. Houses were inclined to show their age and many could have used a lick of paint.

Their grounds also showed obvious signs of neglect. I felt that many premises were unoccupied and had been for quite a while. Right out on the edge of this area I was about to turn back toward my lodgings when I noticed a low, rambling building off the road some way and almost hidden by the trees surrounding it. Some older model cars were drawn up outside. It gave every indication of being, or having been, an hotel. A couple of lights were on outside and a window had the invitation BAR painted on it. What with the fair distance I had walked and the warmth of the night the prospect was quite attractive.

Entering the bar I found about a dozen or so patrons, mainly middle-aged men and obviously locals, parked on stools or at the handful of tables in the room. I bought my drink, took it to an empty table and sat back to listen to the ebb and flow of conversation around me. At first no-one even appeared to notice I was there but , after a while, one or two nodded in my direction but turned back to their companions and carried on their discussions. One by one they drifted out into the night and, as closing time neared, the last patron ambled over to me and introduced himself as a local farmer. Over a drink, or two, he commented upon the local scene and all its problems. He seemed to have an older style of talking and spoke about things that were more relevant to the past. I thought, well perhaps in view of his age and the experiences he related to me, he was entitled to dwell on earlier days. Eventually he left and the bartender made obvious signs he would like me to vacate as well.

Thanking him for the evening's entertainment and refreshment I walked out into the night and, getting my bearings, made my way back to my accommodation. On the way, I walked quite slowly, mulling over the various snatches of conversation I had overheard during the evening. Words like "export prices", "markets", "agents", "shearers" and many others came to mind - all typical of what would be discussed in such a setting, farmers in town for a night's convivial get-together with others of their kind. The weather, of course, was such a subject and, though it was still mild and quite calm, a large bank of cloud was forming in the southern sky with the promise of "a real cracker of a thunderstorm", to quote the drinkers. Yet something seemed odd - they all appeared to be living in the past, like the gentleman who had spoken to me directly.

Perhaps, I thought, that is the way they tend to be these days. With so many problems surrounding them during the day they prefer to let their thoughts drift back to when farming was a profitable enterprise.

In the morning, before I left for my destination, I decided to have another look at the building, mainly because I did not seem to remember such a place from my earlier visits. This did not really surprise me because my calls were confined to the shopping areas.

Try as I might I just did not seem to be able to get my bearings. I could not find the pub. I could trace my steps from my lodgings, past the old homes, then - open ground. No sign of a pub or any other building. Not even anything to show there had been one there. Now, I knew I had had a few ales the previous evening but I could still remember exactly where I had been. However, I surmised, nobody's perfect and I could not spend any more time here as I had to be at the city by mid-afternoon and I had wasted too much time as it was.

During the balance of the drive I kept trying to convince myself I had been mistaken - perhaps a very vivid dream ?

I found my friend's place and that he was much improved and able to receive a visitor without causing any further stress to his health. We reminded each other of our various mutual friends and experiences, plus many other subjects. After some time the conversation turned to my trip over and my overnight's stay at Middletown. One thing led to another and eventually I told him, perhaps rather hesitantly, about my evening out. He looked blankly at me and said "You're dreaming. There hasn't been a hotel on that site for about 30 years. The old place burned down during a particularly bad thunderstorm. A bolt of lightning hit it and it just went up like a box of matches. The building was that old, and the weather had been that dry, that 'Whoosh' and the place was history. Luckily, no-one was hurt."

"But ", I protested, "I was there last night. I can recall everything about the night. The place was called the "Empire Hotel."

"Correct" said Mal.

"The bar was L-shaped with a big window facing the road."

"Right again."

I carried on describing what I had seen and was correct in all details but Mal confidently stated that the place hadn't existed for three decades.

"Hang on ", he said. Rising slowly from his chair he went to a bookcase and came back with a slim volume, "RISE AND FALL, A HISTORY OF MIDDLETOWN".

"This was written for the centennial celebrations over 25 years ago" he observed. "Look at, I think, page 41".

I turned to that page and there, at the top, was a picture of the hotel exactly as I had seen it. Below was another photo, this time of the ruins of the building the day after the fire. I will state quite categorically I had never seen the publication or the photos before.

"One last thing", he asked, "what was the Manager's name up on the bar ? You could only see it from about two places in the bar and I doubt that anyone could ever guess or imagine his identity. You would either know it or you wouldn't. It has never, to my knowledge, appeared in any publication, apart from legal records, and it would be highly unlikely that you would have seen them. If you can tell me that information then I will have to give your most unlikely story some further credence."

I thought for some time, trying to recall whether I had seen it and, if so, what it was. As I ran the evening's events through my mind I suddenly recalled that up to the left of the till, about head height, I had seen some white painted words, a man's name. "Herman van der Schroder," I announced.

"Dead right", he agreed. "Well, you obviously saw the place and, I would guess, as it was some 30 to 40 years ago."

"That would agree with the age of the vehicles I saw standing outside," I concurred.

Suddenly a thought came to my mind. I excused myself and went to my car and got the jacket I had been wearing the previous evening. In a pocket I found what I had been looking for but had not really taken much notice of when I received it. When I got my first drink the barman gave me a little cork mat to put it on and engraved on it was "EMPIRE HOTEL, MIDDLETOWN."

Mel looked at it. "Seems fair enough to me," he said. "Where did you get it ?"

"From the Empire Hotel last night."

"Impossible !!" he snorted.

"Impossible, or not, that's where it came from, and when."

"I'm sorry, but you have to agree that, even if only going by the book, you could not have been there last night, nor any night over the past 30 years."

Much as it hurt, I really could only agree with him. But it's a worry - where was I and what did I see?

I really don't know - do you ?

By the way - the night of my visit coincided with the 30th anniversary of the fire.

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