What a difference a day makes. We awoke this morning to a gloriously sunny day, with not a cloud in the sky. What a perfect day to go exploring the surrounding area.

Initially, we were going to take in a local market, but found that if we arrived at the Old Maitland Gaol for 11:00AM, we could take part in a special tour presented by a former in mate. Given that we can go to markets any time, we got our skates on and headed off in search of the jail, with barely the time to get there for the allocated time. Or so we thought.

Outside the gaol.

Maitland is about a 40 minute drive from Cessnock, but leaving as we did at about 10:00AM and making good time along the way, we arrived with time up our sleeves. It was $17.00 each for a self guided, audio tour of the gaol, or for $20.00 you could join the once a week ex-inmate experience, which is what we signed up for.

Prepare to be enthralled.

At just after 11:00AM we, along with about 2 dozen others were introduced to our guide for the morning. With both weather beaten arms sporting an array of prison tatts, our guide had the gruff look of a guy who’d had a hard life. Aged about 60, and not looking any younger, he had a quite, yet commanding presence despite his smallish stature. He talked almost fondly of his three stints within the sandstone walls of Old Maitland Gaol in a raspy voice that betrayed a lifetime of nicotine addiction, yet his eyes were cold and hard, taking everything in with a practiced ease.

As we toured the grounds and buildings of the complex, he pointed out specific cells that had once held notorious criminals such as Ivan Milat, Darcy Dugan and others. It wasn’t the stories about the actual gaol that enthralled so much, as the relish with which he described numerous ways of bringing harm to others in ways that most would not even believe possible. He laughed out loud as he demonstrated how almost anything could be, and most likely would be, used as a weapon. Even a cigarette or piece of toilet paper. As he put it, these days prison is like a salubrious hotel, where sex and drugs are easy to come by, with the tax payers picking up he tab. He delighted in mocking the guests and was proud to proclaim that the thought of returning to prison held no particular fear for him. He began the tour by telling us that he was innocent, not because he hadn’t committed the crime, but because he had done his time. He later stated that the concept that goal provides rehabilitation in laughable.

In any case, as the 1 ½ hour tour neared the 2 hour mark, we all hung on his every word, not sure whether to be enthralled, petrified or just a little bit of both. I have done many a tour of condemned gaols, but I have to say that, literally, getting the inside story, made this by far the best I’ve experienced. Sure, any layperson could give you an historical run down of the buildings and maybe a brief glimpse of what went on behind the steel gates during occupation, but to hear from a person who has lived it elevates it to an entirely new level.

From the gaol, we made the 10 minute drive to the nearby village of Morpeth. A quaint little town which appears to survive on the tourism trade, people flocking from far and wide to take in the charming produce and craft stores, and enchanting cafes and watering holes.

Bec and Big Ted in Morpeth.

We spent an enjoyable hour or so, wandering the main street, taking in a few of the craft stores, and checking out the annual Morpeth Fiery Food Festival, which we were lucky enough to find in full swing.I may have should have stopped tasting at the mild chilli jams and relishes, but swooped in regardless on one rated 15/10 for hotness. It had hardly passed my lips, when the inside of my mouth began to sweat profusely, and any though I had of tasting anything for the foreseeable future went out the window. Hot was not the word, and to make matters worse, I can’t say I even liked the flavor.

Lunch was to have been a couple of freshly baked sour dough ciabatta rolls from the locally renown Arnotts Bakery, but we were extremely disappointed to find the cashier standing forlornly in front of an utterly empty bread rack. Not even a crumb left, I was crestfallen, having been salivating over the thought of fresh sour dough since reading about it yesterday.

With none of the many other eateries in town meeting our strict criteria of wholesome, filling and cheap, we chose to head back towards home, via Maitland itself. We had only touched on the outskirts earlier, so figured a quick look around was in order. And quick it was, as it turned out. Maitland is neither a large town, nor a tourist town and thus being a Sunday appeared as a ghost town. There wasn’t a single business open in the main street, and hardly another car or person to be seen, so lunch was not to be had here either.

Nearing 3:00PM by this stage, and faced with a 35 minute drive back to Cessnock, we were faced with the realisation that lunch would be either takeaway back in Cessnock or nothing at all. So takeaway it was.

Back at the van, Bec busied herself with a spot of housework, tiding up the rapidly expanding mess inside. It is beyond comprehension how much of a mess you can make in such a short space of time, but with the limited space we have to avail ourselves of, it is difficult to find a proper place for everything. We will work it out, as we go along I am sure.

As for me, I scaled to the heady heights of the van roof, to willfully squirt some silicone sealant about, hopefully managing to satisfactorily seal the offending hole and preventing any further ingress of aqua. Only more rain will judge my success. It’s all fingers and toes crossed until then.

A pre-dinner walk was taken with the dogs then, which brought Bethany out of her sullenness somewhat, as we went tearing around a nearby park at full speed. The wind in her hair, ears flapping about wildly, she was in her element. Alvin enjoyed himself, but I got the feeling that he could take it or leave it, being the prima donna inside dog that he is.

The rest of the evening was spent relaxing and preparing for tomorrows adventures.

Until next time, stay safe, have fun and don’t forget to write.