Social Commentator, Hugh McKay, noted recently, that when there is cosmic uncertainty of the magnitude we are now facing, the power of personal relationships is enhanced and focussed on as a major priority by individuals and communities. This distinction was in sharp relief recently in the tiny Eden Monaro township of Nimmitabel, (population 240) when they celebrated the centenary of their rural show under the banner of " Back to Nimitybelle". (An Aboriginal name meaning "source of many streams" it has had many variations in spelling – with records dating back to 1830 when it was first settled).

Against a background one of the worst droughts on record, coupled with the unrelenting fires that had gripped the district for weeks on end, there was scant evidence of a community feeling anything but immense pride in itself and a tremendous urge to celebrate. Specifically "Back to Nimitybelle" was a perfect excuse for this tiny place to "strut its stuff" with gusto.

A year in the planning, the event was designed to bring people back to honour a town that is proud of its achievements. A town that celebrates its "never say die" philosophy, and the mortar that has this place stand out as an example of what is possible – the people and its many families, some spanning eight or so generations. And they came from near and far. Thousands– in excess of 4,000 - streamed in from as far away as England, Darwin, Perth, Adelaide, Brisbane, Sydney, and closer places such as Canberra and towns throughout NSW and the ACT.

A committee of seemingly tireless townsfolk conspired to have this event effectively knock the socks of all who visited, and they succeeded.

I returned as one who had exited virtually 40 years before when I was sent off to boarding school and from there headed for the lure of life in the bright lights of Sydney. My connection with Nimmitabel rests with my brother, Howard Charles, who was one of the main organisers of the weekend.

The hall, where I recall learning the finer points of Scottish and tap dancing along with the joys of sneaking kisses from whomever was beside me during screenings of movies on Saturday nights, was turned over to a shrine for local family histories. Its walls were festooned with old school, wedding and family photos, collections of memorabilia, old local newspapers, maps, all manner of family histories proudly displayed for everyone to see.

Set up as a meeting place for the event, it was packed throughout the weekend with people filing in to capture some of their past. Squeals of recognition could be heard above the hubub, as yet another meeting of long lost residents occurred.

It was during one of these that I had the first of many startling encounters for myself. My best friend from those days’ Mum, Rae Stove, who noted with some relief that I no longer needed to stuff oranges in my bra, introduced me to someone who’d lived a few miles from our property. Pat Golby studied me for some time before uttering, "You were such a beautiful little girl". My look of horror must have hit the mark. After a moment she assured me I was still okay.

It was the beginning of many similar encouraging utterances I would be on the receiving end of throughout the weekend.

The event inspired a website, generated by one ex-resident, Pattrick Mould, now living in Queensland. It was the means through which many people became aware of the event, and via which the whereabouts of long lost ‘Nimmityites’ was traced. He and local, Bev Francis, ought be congratulated as it was through this website and the many celebratory emails it generated, that excitement was fostered and in the final weeks reached fever pitch.

The Show itself, opened with great laconic style by the ABC’s Colin Monro, was the main focus of attention on the Saturday. Despite many locals being constantly involved with either fighting fires or protecting their property from them, it did not prevent people from exhibiting their livestock, wares, skills and grit to great acclaim.

The main pavilion was crammed full of arts and crafts, fruit, vegetable, cake and condiment displays. Amongst performances on the main stage was that of the local school, Nimmitabel Public, where I began my education. This school took its winning entry of the Olympics Opening Ceremony inspired Man from Snowy River performance in the 2002 Wakakiri (Australian Primary School story dance Eisteddford in the ACT) to Singapore last year to perform in a multicultural festival.

It was the site of the home brewing competition and the bush poetry competition. This my brother won and was awarded the Boyd Mould Trophy with his irreverent verse, entitled Henry’s Big Pee. Like all good Aussie country towns, Nimmitabel’s inhabitants relish any opportunity to lambaste each other mercilessly.

The poem charts the painful tale of his too well-oiled mate, Henry, at a local wedding. He’d sought the cloak of darkness by the river bank for much needed relief, only to be caught midstream, as it were, in the spotlight as the sides of the marquee were lifted to reveal a spectacular fireworks display at the climax of reception.

On delivering it again at the gala dinner, it generated much hilarity from the assembled 400. It’s fair to say Henry, star of the piece, beamed, once again the focus of attention.

What a joy it was for me to be reunited with our wonderful neighbour, Dot Alcock, famous for dipping her sheep at our place, dressed in her ball gown. Sheep dip contained some form of arsenic so it was advisable to wear clothes you’d discard later. We never were sure which scared the sheep more, Dot’s dress or the dip. She delighted in telling me about her impending OBE. Such a treat she is, I considered this totally plausible. She leant over to me and whispered, "Over Bloody Eighty’. You’d never know it, she still has such pluck.

Another Nimmity stalwart, John Jardine collects old cars. I got a sense of royalty travelling in the Grand Parade in one of his beauties – a ’42 model Army Jeep. His daughter, Julie, who deftly managed her endless legs to drive the jeep – leg room and comfort were not a priority in the design - took great pride in telling me about her Dad’s T Model Ford which is also part of his collection. "It was the doctor’s car in the movie, The Sundowners. Peter Ustinov, Robert Mitchum, Deborah Kerr all used to ride around in it," she beamed.

This conversation catapulted me into clear memories of the excitement the town got soaked up in when it was filmed. How thrilling it was when the streets were cleared for scenes – and how one mad neighbour we had continued to break the barriers and dart into the shot to achieve his 15 seconds fame – very popular with the production! People still wax lyrical on how Robert Mitchum would drink in the local pub encouraging everyone to "Just call me Bob".

Jardine’s ’42 model Studebaker was driven by one Fritz Guttek. He had worked driving colossal euclids or earth movers on the Snowy scheme building the massive dams – he looked very at home in the Studebaker.

Lucy Gordon who arrived in the district from Ireland at age 19 when her husband was working on the Snowy, was irrepressible in showing me her chooks. Ebullient in nature, she breeds 16 different poultry purebreds. "It gets in your system and your stuck. I love animals, and I suppose it is in my blood, my great great grandfather, Humanity Dick Martyn started the RSPCA."

Co-ordinator of the poultry exhibition, Janette Langwell, claims Lucy’s poultry live in sheer luxury. Lucy agrees, "I tell you what you could live in the duck house – the roof is insulated so they don’t suffer the heat."

She recounted the story of her Orphingtons who sat all day on a border leicester sheep at a recent show, and even laid eggs in that position. No tricks here, they just were happy to sit on the back of the sheep all day! She also takes these Orphingtons and Silkies (they look more like poodles to me than chooks) to nursing homes and place them on a table. "The people come along in their wheelchairs and enjoy seeing them, some of them having never seen them before, others remembering them from childhood. It is great to give the old people something like this to enjoy!"

I spent time at the bar talking with some of the folk I used to know as a little girl. Many had been part of what was a thriving industry in Nimmitabel – the timber industry. When the sawmill closed in Nimmitabel as a result of the bitter political debate over the South Eastern forests the town lost a million-dollar industry that had been in many ways its life blood. Many now reside elsewhere, while some remain and are either retired or work in other places.

Rodney ‘Dexter’ Rayner was one who now resides on the coast. I used to stay at their house often (I recall my first experience of spin the bottle was in this house – such simple pleasures!). His kids Denise, Mervyn, Nanette and I had all been to school together, and we were reunited after 38 years. Denise and I played a game of seeing who we could recognise, or who would recognise us. Some did not believe who we were, others thought I was my mother!

I was delightfully reunited with David Williams with whom I had travelled to and from school each day on the dodgy school bus, our properties not far from each other. His family is one that has been in this district for many generations. So respected in fact in the town that Lake Williams was created some years earlier bearing their name.

Just being with these people filled me with pleasure in a way I had never imagined when contemplating the event. It was simply delicious. The echoes of a time when life was so innocent and simple was unmistakably present – the joys of childhood were recreated with kaleidoscopic vibrancy. For two days time stood still, and sped backwards.

I visited my old primary school, which recently celebrated its sesquicentenary. I rang the school bell, and instantly felt guilty – this was NEVER done by a pupil. I hurtled into the room where I had been dealt the cane on a number of occasions. I can still feel the pain, but it’s done me no harm whatsoever!

There we saw literally hundreds of school photos and people gazing at themselves with sheer disbelief. Chris McGregor who is very closely associated with the school, has created an amazing piece of history. She produced for the sesquicentenary a scroll which charts the genealogy of the school – pupils and teachers -as far back as records go.

Taking three years in the research (combining school archives and official public records on microfisch) and over 360 hours in its hand-drawn creation, it covers every entrant to the school, the year they arrived and left, where they went on to high school and who their parents were. An incredible document, whose original is now in the Mitchell Library, it is one of only two in Australia. More than merely an exhibition of school pride, it has been referred to by many people seriously seeking genealogical information for themselves.

Sunday was equally special and featured the huge street parade, sponsored by Snowy Hydro. For me the Snowy represents how multiculturalism in Australia could work. With a commonality of purpose previously warring nationalities worked and lived alongside one another harmoniously. What created the most tension from all reports was the lack of women, but that’s another story!

Each of the 35 nationalities who worked on the Snowy was represented by its flag. My English father had worked as the Medical Administrative Officer on the Snowy for 23 years so I had a particular interest in carrying the Union Jack. As fortune would have it an Ozzie Experience tour bus lobbed into town that morning and decided they would enter the parade. We did not have enough flag bearers, so enrolled some of those on tour to carry flags in the parade. One young Maltese even scored the Maltese flag – a moment in her trip she would not have anticipated when dreaming of touring around Aussie, I’ll wager.

It was also the event brother Howard had co-ordinated and sweated over for many months. His joy was palpable when items such as a massive bulldozer on the back of the low-loader arrived. His thrill was not so much the dozer, but the fact that they had been able to locate the low-loader, all of which are in constant use with the bushfires. A Snowy memorial museum is being developed and this dozer will form part of it.

All examples of the town’s industry (past and present) were represented. The classic car and bike clubs; machinery of yesteryear; the Snowy Scheme, its equipment and workers; the timber industry; sheep and cattle industries; blue metal quaries – an industry which has supported some of the laid off timber workers in more recent years; the well travelled school and many more besides. The fire brigade generated massive applause naturally enough. There is not one person in this community who has not been touched by these devestating fires, its impact will be felt for many years to come.

Ron Doblinger had a four wheeler buckboard (or sulkie) in the parade carrying Miss Showgirl. When he and his father was working for one Martin Shelley some 50 years earlier he was offered as payment, the sulkie and its horse.

They had great fun for a few years riding around in the horse and sulkie, but eventually the family moved on to Yass, leaving the sulkie on the property of Ivan and Rick Hain Moles Station.

Quite a few years after by which time Doblinger’s father had died, he came back to the station and said, "Oh that old sulkie down there in the paddock is mine."

Old Ivan before he died said, "I’ll tell you a story that is not your sulkie – that sulkie actually belonged to us, not to Martin Shelley. He had borrowed it and he had no right to give it to you, so we were delighted when you brought it back and left it here."

So then it stayed on Moles Station and 32 years later Doblinger came back and said to Rick Hain "Let’s do something with this sulkie." Rick thought about it for a while and finally rang up Ron saying, "Yes, do something about it, and I tell you what we actually need it in six months time, to be a part of the parade for the Nimmitabel centenary."

It took many hours of hard work and the results were proudly displayed on the day.

The old bullock team was a favourite. Bullock teams predated machinery in the timber industry and featured in this district for many years. Frank Scott owns this team and has been training them since they were five months old. On average the bullocks weigh nearly a tonne each and can move about 16 tonnes. He loves his bullocks, calls them by name and can get them to do anything he asks.

It was the moment for all to soak up what the town had won and lost. A clear representation of its indefatigable spirit and a simple display of a solid confidence in who they are.

Passionate about community and what that can inspire in people, I hang my head in shame at how I turned my back on Nimmitabel with such relish so long ago. This event showed me how much we lack in the city. Neighbours do not suspect each other here – they support and celebrate each other.

I left the event pondering the difference this distinction could make, were it applied on a grander stage. I returned to Sydney soaked in nostalgia, pride and just a little sadness considering if what I’d given up was worth it. For just one moment in time I’d revisited my childhood and got from that how lucky I was to have had such magic. It renewed my pride in my rural beginnings and that has to be worth a cracker or two.