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His name is PJ, he is a pioneer park caretaker

17 August 2006, around 3.34pm… “I thought I heard voices,” said a small man with a smoke-croaky voice standing in the doorway of train carriage No.3 at the Millewa Pioneer Park. “My name is PJ – I’m the caretaker.”

His clothes, a mismatched ensemble of items from the ‘70s and the ‘80s, as well as a ‘90s baseball cap, are covered in a light layer of red Millewa dust from the meticulous sweeping the bare floors and porches of the park’s many historical buildings. The train carriage is as clean as can be for a display building in an open-air museum.

“She’s my favourite,” PJ says through an exhale of cigarette smoke, pointing to one of the many black-and-white copies of photographs of Millewa’s old families that line the carriage walls. “Mrs Dorothy Hiscock.”

Standing in front of a small tent with her pioneering wheat farmer husband, black-and-white Dorothy stares at the camera with the barest of smiles. A delicate, summer 1920s dress hangs off her too-thin frame – her hair has outgrown her once fashionable bob by a few inches.

PJ stabs the air with his left forefinger to the picture beside the Hiscocks in front of their first Millewa home. This black-and-white Dorothy is crouched to the ground, possibly wearing the same 1920s dress, digging around the roots of what was obviously once a very big tree. “That’s a mallee stump,” PJ says before dragging in the remnant of the rollie.

PJ takes it upon himself to guide the two new visitors to the old Millewa Historic Country Railway Station. The body odour contained within the much-worn brown-and-white strip polyester shirt under the many-coloured 80s acrylic jumper lingers with the wind a step or two behind him.

Inside the station, he steps behind the counter, disappears into the room to the left and reappears wearing the too-large Station Master’s hat over his small head. PJ looks pleased with himself. He shifts his old and thin frame upright and puffs out his chest. “Would you like a ticket?” he asks the tall blonde woman on the other side of the counter.

His enthusiasm gaining momentum, PJ rushes the two women through the park, to the blacksmith’s shop, to a thatched shelter, past trees planted by Millewa families, through to the government bulding. He barely stops to answer questions. He refuses to reveal his surname, or if he is from old Millewa pioneering stock.

“I think he might be a Philip John,” says the tall blonde woman as PJ excitedly runs off and into the annex attached to a small caravan just near the press shop. The two women ignore the little caretaker’s command to “stay there” and wander off to look at the old printing press through a large display window.

“I thought I told you to stay put,” PJ yells out as he emerges from the annex wearing a vest and two hats covered with a variety of commemorative badges. He points to a hot air balloon badge on the tip of the black beanie. “I got this last weekend,” he boasts.

Following the two women into the three-room weatherboard government building, PJ eagerly waits for either the blonde or the brunette to discover the glass cabinet in the left-hand corner containing the rest of his badge collection. “Did you see them?” he asks as the brunette walks from the left room to the right room.

Waiting for the two women to finish looking over the black-and-white family photographs covering the wall, PJ turns his vest inside-out and folds the badge-heavy material carefully around the hats like he has done it 100 times before. He mutters, groans and mumbles in deep concentration.

With badge bundle tucked under his right arm, PJ walks over to the brunette standing in front a picture of Mrs Dorothy Hiscock and husband outisde the tent. Still quietly muttering, moaning and grumbling, he pulls out a white ‘Hiscock’ labelled folder from the three-tier shelves below. “I was reading this just this morning,” he says as he flicks through the printed and hole-punched pages on Hiscock history.

It is late-afternoon and the women walk briskly back to the car, with PJ still in tow. “But you haven't seen the hall yet,” he calls out, then quickly waves friendly goodbye back to the women as the car pulls out of the park.

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