When we visited this delightful playground we found our time all too short. A run of five miles from Augusta, along a winding road dappled with shadow, brought us within a short distance of the Leeuwin lighthouse. Great grass-trees – ‘blackboys’ – and blossoming banksias, bearing huge ‘bottle-washers’ as well as the fantastic fruits of last year, appealed to the botanists in our party. We stopped occasionally for closer inspection. The green ‘kangaroo-tails’ of the grasstrees were breaking into bloom, and long lines of tiny white flowers showed on the eastern sides of the tall green scapes like streaks of light. In a week or two the whole of the top part of the ‘tail’ would be white.
There are four keepers’ cottages on Cape Leeuwin. Only three are occupied, two by married men and their families, the third by a single man. When the winds of winter beat against our doors and we snuggle more closely around our cosy fires we may sometimes give a thought to the men who keep lonely vigil on our bleak coast. But on dreamy summer days, when the sea sighs gently on the shore and lazy waves but tardily efface our footprints in the sands, it is easy to forget the lonely watchers in their tall towers. The lot of the lighthouse-keepers of Cape Leeuwin lighthouse compares very favourably with that of their comrades in other parts of the world or with that of some keepers in more isolated positions on the Australian coast. The children have for their playground some of the finest sands I have seen. Lovely shells – large, many-coloured cowries among them – are washed ashore in great numbers. A quaint old wheel, driven by water from a swamp, is employed to convey water to the keepers’ quarters, about 40 chains away. The water runs along a trough. Some of the water falls into a chamber on one side. The rest flows over the wheel, driving it and the force pump, which feeds the pipe leading to the quarter.
Climbing to the top of the lighthouse – the Leeuwin light is 130ft. high – we obtained splendid views of the land towards Hamelin and Flinders Bay. We did not need to be told that life on the cape was not always as calm and fair as we found it. There are days when huge waves buffet the tall tower and wild seas surge endlessly about its base; days when salt spray deluges its shining parts so that they must be polished and repolished again and again. The life of the keepers is not all smooth sailing. There are sometimes black hours, when terrible fogs blot out land and sea alike.
We experienced a curious sensation as stepping on to a platform within the tower, we slowly turned with the great light on a bath of mercury, which, we were told, cost £5,000. The light revolves once in 15 seconds, giving a regular flash in every seven and a half seconds, and it is visible for 40 miles. No two lights on the Australian coast have the same timing, so that a mariner, taking the time of the flashes, knows at once what light he has picked up. To the lay mind the apparatus appeared to consist of a very powerful lamp of the bullseye type, with a circular lattice of glass slats so arranged that they refracted the beams of light in the right direction. It is a wonderful piece of mechanism: a beautiful work of art. Every two hours the keeper on duty must go down the 159 steps in the spiral stairway, with the aid of only an ordinary hurricane lantern, and take the reading of the thermometer bulbs. At 8 o’clock every morning reports are sent to the Perth Observatory.
The watches of eight hours become tedious, even to men who have done the work all their lives, and the keepers know how to appreciate a holiday. Our bachelor guide told us of one merry trip to Perth which culminated in a big win at the races. The holiday, however, necessitated a visit to the doctor, who diagnosed the aftermath as a nervous breakdown, and prescribed complete rest. Not knowing the occupation of his patient, the doctor advised him to give up his job and go to some quiet little place along the coast. The eye of the keeper twinkled as he assured us that he did not need to give up his job to procure quiet. Some of us fancied that we had heard the tale before in similar circumstances on another part of the coast, but we did not spoil his story by telling the keeper so.
The keeper begged us as we bade him good-bye to examine the path of shells he had made to his cottage door and to peep at his tiny garden. We admired them both and we fancied that we read signs that someone would soon enter his cottage and end his loneliness. We were loath to leave the Leeuwin, where we had spent so many happy hours. We shall remember for many a day the imposing picture of the lighthouse on its isolated bit of the continent.
Chapter 10
FAIRY TALES FROM NATURE
‘Except in a few old cottage gardens, in the gardens of botanists and lovers of literature, these plants of long tradition are now rarely seen. Desirable as they are, it
