Trentham, Victoria

Trentham is a pleasing little town – the gateway to the Wombat State Forest they call it - 97 kilometres north-west of Melbourne. Like many people, I’ve passed through it numerous times on my way to Daylesford because, as my Dad used to say, “Blink and you’ll miss this one love.”  It’s that sort of place – a little cluster of shops edging the main road and, until recently, not a lot of enticement to stop.

These days they call it a food hub, a gourmand’s little heaven. The former travel guide critic in me is always a little suspicious of these sorts of descriptions but for this, my first trip back to Trentham in over a year, I was prepared to give it the benefit of the doubt. It’s not like me to pass up a good meal after all.

It was just before 9am when I drove into town along the Avenue of Honour, admiring the bulky heft of St Mary Magdalen’s Catholic Church, its associated school and adjacent residence of some nature. The Catholics do a good church I have to say and the imposing cluster of brick buildings at the southern end of town hints at early settlement and the ‘jostling for best position.’

Down a slope and around the corner is the Anglican Church (above) – one of those little brick ‘storybook’ churches, resplendent in a modest, Anglican way, with bright red wooden doors (open!) and a little blackboard at the entry announcing “Sunday worship at 9am” followed by the almost erased words “Come in, rest, pray.”

I took them at their word. It’s not often these days that you actually find church doors open – not in New Zealand anyway; and as I have a liking for church architecture, I lifted the old black, metal latch on walked in. Tip toes for some obscure reason.

I love the silence of churches and the way the old timbers seem (to me) to harbour a multitude of personal histories. It was dark, with a scarlet carpet runner leading up to the sunlit altar – the light showing the way, you might say. The old wooden pews bore neat, tapestry-style upholstered cushions and I wondered how many years of ‘church bottoms’ they had gifted comfort to. Records of the first Anglican Church (wooden) start from 1864, so that suggests a pretty good bottom tally.

I didn’t linger. Call me a heathen if you must but at 9am I was more interested in finding coffee. I wandered in the general direction, taking in the unmissable presence of “Wooden Duck Antique Farmhouse and Vintage Industrial,” which inhabits the grand old wooden building that began life in 1863 as the Commercial Hotel. The hotel licence apparently ended in the 1970s but the cellars are still there – albeit with the lines to the bar now disconnected.

The line of wooden duck decoys along the upper balcony is a hint of the oddities within. Few things stir my curiosity like a good second hand or antique shop but even I was surprised by the blonde, pretty-boy mannequin’s head that stared back at me from a little glass case. He looked startled and if I’m not mistaken, a little indignant about being locked in a cabinet. Who wouldn’t be? Especially when your nearest neighbours are a metal flamingo and a pair of stuffed, wrestling foxes.

Two sections down, on a corner, the Trentham Post Office 3458 proudly announced itself as the ‘Agent for the Commonwealth Bank of Australia.’ The Australian flag was hoisted on the pole but hung there, sullen, determined not to flutter; and someone’s forgotten beige beanie hat was slung over the wall tap. I suppose I should have paid more attention to the town’s war memorial on the corner but I was distracted by the beanie and who might have left it there. And would they ever come and retrieve it?

It’s fair to say that not a lot happens in Trentham at 9am on a weekday. The town – like many in this area - comes to life from Thursday through Sunday, when over-worked Melbournians head out of the big smoke looking for a quiet country retreat, a spa, a bit of boutique shopping and some of that gourmet food I mentioned earlier. Then the shop doors open, the cash registers jingle and everyone looks busy and ready for a quiet Monday.

That said, the streets were lined with vehicles when I started my stroll towards caffeine, despite the fact that jaunty little shops like The Spotted Pony, Dr B’s Bookstore, Robin-a-Bobbin, Jargon and Two Fat Wombats were all sealed tight against the chill air.

And speaking of chill air, don’t think that for one minute that because this is Australia it doesn’t get cold. The coldest temperature ever recorded in Trentham was minus 8-degrees and snow and sleet fall here on average, 13 days per year.

But back to Two Fat Wombats with its store window jam-packed with a strange assortment of animals – some, like the sheep and the wombat, with lift-off backs that revealed a cunningly concealed Esky – or as we call them in New Zealand, a chilly bin. They appear to be made of some type of fibreglass material and, along with the door notice “Learn Chinese in Five Minutes,” the ”Sex After Death” joke taped to the glass and the ’backyard’ filled with a bewildering collection of wild (largely African) animals – from giraffe to gorillas – I couldn’t help wondering about sales figures. And who might buy a life-size fibreglass giraffe to take home.

Then I discovered Chaplin’s with its window notice “Best Coffee in Town, No Hashtag Required.” It seemed worth a shot. On all previous visits to Trentham, I’ve gone to Red Beard Bakery and Café, which is known for its fabulous sour dough breads (below) and its 100-year-old Scotch oven that ran in the original Trentham Bakery onsite from 1891-1987. The oven weighs 75 tonnes and stores enough heat from one firing to bake 600 loaves. The oven floor measures 16 square metres; and these days, visitors can watch bakers using the oven through a large viewing window.

But they were closed and Chaplin’s (above) wasn’t. Far from it in fact, it was pulsing with life – local life. This was clearly the community hub and I could see I was in the right place at the right time to watch Trentham locals hugging each other and getting about the important business of coffee drinking.

There were crocheted rugs slung over the backs of old wooden chairs – for those aforementioned freezing days no doubt; and a flurry of Charlie Chaplin memorabilia. I sat there wondering …why Charlie Chaplin…in Trentham? It wasn’t until later in the morning that it all made sense – when another local told me that Mel, who runs the show, also doubles as a Charlie Chaplin impersonator.

I fell upon a little collection of historical booklets, mostly put together by the Trentham Historical Society. “Take a Walk Around Trentham,” “The Trentham Falls Scenic Reserve,” ”Early History of the Trentham District,” “Trentham Bush Nursing Hospital,” “Trentham’s Sporting History,” “Trentham at War” and “A Hard Day’s Walk -  Growing Spuds around Trentham.”

It seems important at this point, to make reference to potatoes, given that they have played such a prominent role in the town’s history. From 1850 to the present day, the deep volcanic soils of the Trentham district have made it a prime potato-growing region. If you know where to look, you can still see many of the old spud huts that were used to house the itinerant spud diggers; and there are a number of farmers still producing spud crops –most of those have contracts with big companies like McDonald’s and McCain’s and others are growing niche varieties for the market and hospitality trades.

In the 1850s spuds were the staple diet of the nearby gold-diggers and the town still stages the annual Great Trentham Spud Fest, a quirky event which began in 2008. It was somehow reassuring too, to see that Chaplin’s, in time-honoured fashion, was giving the traditional baked spud pride of place on its lunch specials board – served with house-made coleslaw, candied bacon, sour cream, garlic butter and tasty cheese. (Eat your hearts out gourmands).

Talk of gold-diggers made me think of Trentham Falls, Victoria’s highest single-drop waterfall that plunges 32 metres into the Coliban River, just two kilometres from town. (That's the area where gold was first found). In “Early History of Trentham District” there’s a charming photo of a Victorian family sitting beside the falls sometime between 1900 and 1908. They’re decked out in typically prim Victorian wear – high-necked frilly blouses, hats, gloves and suits for the men. Completely impractical attire for Australia in any era!

But they look a whole lot happier than I remember being when, a couple of years ago, my son and family lured me to the falls with the promise of a picnic beside the river. I still remember it vividly –walking down the steep track then, as is my son’s wont, leaving the track completely and heading into thigh-high undergrowth in the vague direction of the sound of running water.

I couldn’t hear water and all I could think about was snakes and poisonous spiders lying in wait for one of my chubby legs to bite into. Every rustle, every tiny movement harboured some threat to my safety and I never relaxed for a minute, not even when the sandwiches came out of their wrapping. Suffice to say I’ve never been back.

Back at Chaplin’s, I moved on to “Trentham’s Sporting History.” I’m not a rugby or football fan of any description and I barely warm up at the mention of cricket but I figured the district must have spawned some famous person who liked donning whites, or rolling about in the mud.

And perhaps it has but I never found out. I was so completely enthralled by what must surely be the high point of Trentham’s sporting history – the annual Annelid (Worm) Race, which started in 1980 and continued for the next decade, ending rather abruptly for no apparent reason – although a change of date or a change of venue have been suggested as possible reasons.

I would like to have met the person who instigated the first Worm Race. He – I assume it was a man – sounds like a quirky character worthy of further investigation. And while you may wonder if he raced worms on his own, the answer is, No, he didn’t.  The first race attracted 26 entrants and over the years that number grew to over 200, with people travelling inter-state to attend the annual Australia Day event. It seems a shame – in this age of gourmands and boutique shoppers – that things like worm races have lost their place on the Trentham calendar.

I left Chaplin’s much wiser – and much more watchful. It had become clear over Mel’s coffee that there was much more to this little town that first meets the eye. It’s the same with any small town of course – that’s why I love these places. They seem slow and quiet but scratch the surface and you discover all manner of curiosities.

Trentham may be establishing itself as a gourmand’s little heaven but it’s the oddities, the curiosities and the mundane that enchant me about the place. It may be ‘trending’ for visiting Mellbournians but I love the fact that it’s still true to its rural roots. It still has handwritten notices for lost cats taped to shop windows; and town noticeboards that advertise things like Hay for Sale, a Writer’s Retreat to “unlock your inner voice,” and line dancing classes (Mondays. $4 per person).

And old men still gather at Trentham Town Square to laugh and talk together and play bowls – or maybe it’s petanque in this gourmand age?