TasWeekend: Beaconsfield back from the brink

WHEN the West Tamar region was rocked by a deadly mine rockfall 10 years ago, there were fears Beaconsfield would never recover. But not only has the town survived, it has thrived.

West Tamar Mayor Christina Holmdahl at the Beaconsfield Mine and Heritage Centre

AGONY, suspense and ecstasy confronted the former gold-mining town of Beaconsfield in northern Tasmania a decade ago. The fallout from the underground rockfall that killed miner Larry Knight and caused a two-week internment of miners Todd Russell and Brant Webb is ongoing for the town with a population of about 1200, as well as the greater West Tamar region.

Perhaps surprisingly, some of those repercussions are positive.

The tunnels that run more than 1km beneath Beaconsfield have been abandoned and allowed to flood, the mine’s iconic A-shaped headframe remains like a giant monument and most of the 150 workers are long gone, having disappeared after the mine’s 2012 closure – but the town is thriving.

Locals firmly believe the global infamy associated with one of Australia’s deepest, richest and most challenging gold mines has turned out to be a silver lining that contributes to the town’s vibrancy.

Tamar Valley Mayor Christine Holmdahl and her predecessor Barry Easther say the suspense that gripped the town – and the rest of the world – while rescuers blasted their way through solid rock to rescue the trapped miners made life hard for locals at the time, especially those who were trying to go about their business in town.

“It was quite daunting for people in the local community to have so many reporters pulling them up and asking them questions,” Easther says.

But Easther and Holmdahl say the colossal media exposure, followed by the Beaconsfield TV movie, that etched the town into the national psyche facilitated the town’s comparatively painless transition from gold mining to a tourism and lifestyledriven economy.

“There was disaster and sadness, but the benefits that have flowed from the town’s media profile … people are still wanting to come to feel for themselves what it would have been like,” Holmdahl says.

West Tamar Mayor Christina Holmdahl at the Beaconsfield Mine and Heritage Centre. Picture: CHRIS KIDD

Central to that experience is the Beaconsfield Mine and Heritage Centre. “The museum is now well-known as a place people put on their travel itineraries,” Holmdahl says.

Easther says that before the 2006 Anzac Day tragedy, the museum – including the ruins of mine workings constructed a century earlier – attracted 16,000 to 18,000 visitors annually. In the decade since, visitation at the council-run museum has been close to 40,000, helped by a major redevelopment partly funded by the Federal Government. The improvements include a replica of the small metal cage that shielded the two trapped miners from tonnes of fallen rock, serving as their sanctuary and prison for 14 nights.

Holmdahl says the centre’s extra visitation has been “a fantastic benefit” for the supermarket, bakery and other small businesses lining the town’s main street.

“They are doing very well. On any given day you can come in and along the main street all of the car parks are full,” she says. “When the mine disaster happened I don’t think anyone imagined the life that would come to this town.” But it’s not all roses, of course. Chris Rundle, former licensee of Beaconsfield’s Club Hotel and a long-time friend of Russell, says the tragedy of Knight’s death and the trauma suffered by Russell and Webb should never be discounted. Rundle says the ugly spectacle of some interstate TV crews jostling for interviews and pictures during the crisis also left a bitter taste.

“Rescue workers were staying upstairs in the hotel [and media] people were offering them $10,000 or $20,000 to take cameras down,” he says. “I caught one guy climbing a ladder up to the balcony … no respect. I had to get my friends to guard the stairs and the balcony.”

Rundle says he was manning the bar at 9.26pm on April 25, 2006, when he felt the magnitude-2.2 earthquake that triggered the rockfall. “It was like this big boof – it’s hard to describe – the bottles on the shelf shook. I thought they were going to fall off.”

Chris Rundle, the Club Hotel publican at the time of the mine disaster. Picture: CHRIS KIDD

By 8am the next morning Rundle was fielding media calls “from Japan, England, America”. “Everyone wanted to do radio interviews, it was just insane,” he says. “I didn’t want to, to start off with. I didn’t know what was going on.” The Club Hotel served as a kitchen and common room for mine rescuers, who were working around the clock. “I didn’t sleep for seven days – the pub was open 24 hours. I had a phone call from the Licensing Board and I said, ‘You can come down here and close the pub, and you will be all over the front page’,” he says.

Until recently, Rundle says his recollection of those days was clouded by the many difficulties and negatives. Looking back though, the “good stuff” is finally “bubbling to the surface”. He particularly remembers the way in which the community pulled together and speaks with admiration about “the lady in the church”, referring to Uniting Church minister Frances Seen.

“A lot of people were upset and she was just open all of the time,” he says. “If you needed to talk to someone, you would go and talk to Frances. I think a lot of people started going to church more often.” Rundle says he also recalls the hotel chef labouring selflessly in the kitchen, pumping out 300 meals to send to the mine, and the many friends who donated their time to keep the hotel going. And then there was the generosity of strangers, such as the caller who authorised Rundle to take $4000 from his credit card – $2000 for Knight’s widow Jackie and $2000 over the bar for the miners.

Rundle says about $14,000 of donations were put over the bar during two days of celebrations that started on May 9, the day Russell and Webb were finally freed.

“There were 1000 people in the pub, there was free grog for most of the night and the next day we didn’t shut,” he remembers.

When Russell put in an appearance at the hotel that night, TV personality Eddie McGuire and other media were prevented from getting near him. “[So] Eddie threw him a beer can. Todd opened it and drank it,” he says.

Seen, whose church is still the go-to place for people who wish to remember the 2006 events, says many people will never completely get over the traumatic two weeks.

Uniting Church Minister Francis Seen. Picture: CHRIS KIDD

“Whether it is 10 years or 20 years, they remember every day something about it,” she says. “But you don’t dwell on it. Life goes on.

Beaconsfield has had its time of healing, but there is always another memory. We still have visitors from all over Australia and the world.” Seen says that on the morning of the rockfall she put up a simple sign that read: “Please pray for our miners.” “From April 26 to May 9, the church was open 24/7 for people to come and reflect, for people just wanting a moment of quietness alone,” she says. “People knocking off work in the city, even people on early shifts, would come and sit for a few minutes. We never approached them. We allowed them to come in their own way.”

Seen says the fact Russell and Webb were comfortable remaining in Beaconsfield was a positive sign for both the former miners and the town. “The community has respected them. Just to say hi to them in the street, not to start up a conversation about it with them.”

Holmdahl says Russell and Webb were the exceptions in that not many other mine workers were actually living in Beaconsfield at the time of the crisis. That meant that at the end of their shifts the miners tended to drive straight past the small businesses in the main street and onward to Launceston or George Town.

Nevertheless there were concerns that the town would not survive. In hindsight, Easther says, the mine’s temporary closure after the rockfall and its final closure in 2012 was not severely detrimental to the town.

“The town didn’t really suffer that much from the closure of the mine,” he says.

In 2008, the region benefited from an $8.3 million community fund pledged by former prime minister John Howard to help its recovery. Beneficiaries included the Mine and Heritage Centre; a self-guided heritage walk called the Walk of Gold; Beauty Point’s Seahorse Australia, which is now a major visitor attraction; the local hair and beauty salon; a Clarence Point orchard; and Premier Roses, a successful flower farm on Beaconsfield’s outskirts.

An aerial view of the Beaconsfield Mine and Heritage Centre.

Premier Roses owner Steve Klimeck says his recollection of the earthquake has a rose-coloured tint. He remembers the evening of April 25 as having been eerily calm when he stepped into his backyard. “But there were waves in the pool,” he says.

At the time he had no way of knowing the tragic impact the incident would have on his town – nor its more positive implications for his business. A $140,000 grant he and wife Mary-Anne received from the Beaconsfield Community Fund after the disaster gave the business the kickstart it needed to double in size and generate more local employment. Klimeck says the grant enabled the business to cover greenhouse costs during the five months it took for young perennial rose bushes to come of age. The farm employs six people, who all live in the local area.

Easther, who appeared unflappable when he was thrust into the international spotlight during the crisis, says it was by far the most stressful period of his life.

“Outwardly, I had to remain positive,” he says, though he was fearful the rescue might not turn out well.

Beaconsfield “settled back into normal life fairly quickly” after the crisis and the council’s priority was to work on ways to encourage visitors to “look beyond the Batman Bridge”.

Holmdahl says many of the old-timers living in the town at the time of the crisis have moved on, or passed on, but there is no shortage of new residents. They include holiday-makers who initially came to learn more about the mine rescue and then decided “it is a nice little town to live in”. Holmdahl says many newcomers are older people seeking a peaceful retirement, but the recently improved school precinct also makes the town, within commuting range of Launceston, more attractive for young families.

The giant A-Frame at the former mine site.

The Beaconsfield Mining and Heritage Centre covers a lot more than those two eventful weeks in 2006, with its new three-dimensional holographic mine experience allowing visitors to experience a world 1200m underground, meet virtual miners, discover mining techniques and learn about mining culture.

Holmdahl says she believes it’s almost time for the community to draw a line under the events of 10 years ago.

“Council made a conscious decision to mark the 10th anniversary, but it is the last one we will be marking,” she says.

“It is time to put that part of Beaconsfield’s history to rest. There was one life lost, it was a terrible tragedy for the family of Larry Knight and colleagues. Also [60 Minutes reporter] Richard Carlton.” Carlton, one of Australia’s highest-profile TV journalists, collapsed and died at a crowded press conference two days before the rescue .

“This was especially tragic due to all of the colleagues who were with him at the time,” Holmdahl says. “The whole town felt empathy and they still do.” An inability to control flooding first closed the Beaconsfield Mine in 1914. Now the giant A-Frame built when the mine reopened in 1999, is the museum’s – and perhaps the town’s – crown jewel.

● A ceremony to mark the 10th anniversary of the Beaconsfield Mine tragedy will be held at Beaconsfield Community Centre, Weld St, Beaconsfield, on Monday, May 9, at 11am. For more information, visit wtc.tas.gov.au

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