Bendigo Easter Fair, 1998, Easter Monday Procession, Chinese section
Time for some more community involvement, I said. If I leave Bendigo without being dragon legs I'll regret it for ever. With the newfound fitness of my forties and general love of leaping about and (much to my teenage kids' disgust) wearing bright clothing in public, the obvious choice was Gansu Loong, the 'fun' dragon.
A word of explanation: The largest and best-known feature of the Easter Monday parade is the Chinese Association section. This has a great number and variety of colourful people and creatures and culminates in Sun Loong, the imperial dragon, who requires 50 pairs of legs and is one of the longest processional dragons in the world. Gambolling just before Sun Loong is Gansu Loong, with 15 carriers. Gansu Loong is hyperactive, twisting and turning, tying himself in knots and rolling over like a puppy. Needless to say, one needs a modicum of fitness and agility to carry him.
I contact Charles Lougoon, the Gansu Loong team leader. No guarantees. There is a bit of skill involved, but we see that you are enthusiastic. Easter week ticks over. No calls. Then Charles rings. I'm in! The catch- there is probably no rehearsal! Am I fit and agile enough? Will I make some major mistake and sully the reputation of Gansu Loong?
My first call is for Easter Sunday night, but it's raining. The Chinese section will not go out for the torchlight procession. Leave that to the intrepid CFA crews and other waterproof people. That means that my first performance is the big one on Monday.
I arrive and join the crowds of participants milling around the Chinese Museum, waiting to be swallowed up by the well-oiled machinery of the procession committee. There are few Chinese faces. The 25% of the Bendigo population who were Chinese last century are no longer here. Bendigonians of other races have enthusiastically stepped into their shoes and kept the Chinese Association flourishing in this city.
I meet Charles. He has the air of a farmer. He is a farmer, and he runs a small gold mine, too. The various teams go to their muster stations in the side street and are called one by one for lunch (a pie and a drink). I meet the rest of the team. Some people are my age, a few teenagers, but most are men in their twenties.
We go into the Museum to don the wonderful yellow 'pyjamas'. Leave your singlet off. You might think it's cold today but these suits are hot! Charles and the other experienced team members are quietly spoken, helping with a cuff or safety pin here, a headdress there. The team is soon ready.
Meanwhile the Sun Loong team has arrived and the carriers have taken up their stations on the spiral mezzanine that is the dragon's perch for 364 days a year. Faced with a more daunting organisational task, the team leader shouts instructions. Tie the trousers at the back. Nobody is to leave without a pole pouch strapped to their bodies. Sun Loong is heavy when you have to carry him for an hour.
The Gansu Loong team takes its position, then we do our exit from the Museum. Whenever we are in public, the illusion of Gansu Loong must be maintained. He is a living creature. His body must flow.
Disaster strikes. I do not notice the kerb and fall over, striking my knee. My pole dances away and I scramble to recapture it. My knee is a bit sore but not enough to stop me. I'm too busy keeping up to be embarrassed.
We have nearly an hour's wait at the marshalling area, enough time to learn some of Gansu's tricks. He can roll over (we have to step over his body). He can put his head and tail through under the middle of his body and then miraculously untangle himself. He can coil himself up and then spring forward, his tail lashing. With the experienced people in key positions the manoeuvres are easy to learn.
The long wait is not without self-doubt. I discover that I have been bleeding on my costume. With the costume's red trim, the blood matches and looks more like careless dying. I meet another carrier, Colin, who is a similar age to me. Colin has always carried Gansu. Colin is a farmer, too.
Then we are off. Our drummers and firecrackers man add to the excitement with vigorous rhythm, noise and the smell of gunpowder. We run, dodging and weaving. Everything goes smoothly. The crowd applauds Gansu's tricks. I am getting puffed and begin to wonder if I'll need a rest (there are five relieving carriers ready to take over). A coil! Phew! A few seconds to crouch down and rest; then we are off, the tail carriers whipped about. I'm not tired any more. This is exhilarating! My eyes are on Gansu's body (and the ground- no more accidents, thanks!). I follow and create his movements without thought. He is alive!
At the fountain my headdress comes loose and I take a break while someone reties it. I run to catch up and notice that my knee is getting tight. The walk and trot of Gansu is not painful so I keep going. Nothing will deprive me of this!
Before we know it we are back in the Chinese Museum, becoming ourselves again and enjoying a welcome cool drink. Between the shouting and applause of the Sun Loong team congratulating themselves, Charles is quietly thanking each member of our team. We can look forward to a phone call next Easter, or maybe before. Gansu is not an imperial dragon. He can perform as often as he likes.
My knee blows up like a balloon, but it doesn't seem to be a serious injury. My style will be cramped for a few weeks, but I have been Gansu Loong, and that was a lot of fun!
David Stephensen, April 1998