Tales from Down Under Read online

  Intense pain engulfed Akito. He was in an agony that squeezed his arms and legs together into a ball, tightly clamped around his body. He felt as though his blood was boiling. Every muscle, organ and even his bones were on fire. As he lay on the deck, crying out in agony, the crew dumped buckets of sea water over him. His suffering was so great he only wanted to die. Sometime later, now barely able to breathe, his inner light slowly departed leaving him in darkness. The last thing he saw was an opened shell next to him on the deck. Its satin smooth lining of nacre gleamed in beautiful mother-of-pearl hues of pink, gold and green.

  Note:

  There were many dangers presented to pearl shell divers along the Kimberley coast in the 1860s – 1880s. The most common cause of death among them was the dreaded bends, the ‘rapture of the deep’ as Jacques Cousteau later called it. The diver may feel fine while on the bottom, but when surfacing too quickly, he would feel pain in his back and joints causing him to double up. Unconsciousness, agonizing convulsions and even death would often follow.

  It was later discovered that pressure at great depths under water resulted in the absorption of nitrogen into the bloodstream causing it to fizz. The arteries of the heart and brain became blocked resulting in heart failure, while paralysis of the respiratory muscular tissue caused the lungs to cease functioning.

  Tests were devised to prove that divers could work in extreme depths provided they came up slowly to allow the nitrogen to dissolve. Despite this research many pearl divers ignored these warnings and casualties increased. Eventually the decompression chamber was introduced and by 1918, the death toll from the ‘bends’ had been reduced to a single fatality.

  PLACE OF THE DEAD HOUSES

  ‘Come along, Amity. It’s your bedtime now.’

  ‘Mum, I’m trying to brush my hair but it’s full of snarls.’

  ‘Let me tease them out of your curls then we’ll lie down together for a story.’ As Mary Thompson took the brush from her daughter she asked, ‘What tale do you want to hear tonight, Amity?’

  ‘Oh Mum, please tell me about the time we went to Humpybong, when I was a baby.’ Laughing, Mary hugged her daughter as the two of them snuggled together in the large featherbed. After both were settled her story began.

  ‘On September 14th in 1824 your father and I, your brother John—he was five then—three officers, soldiers, and their families all went ashore at Red Cliff Point. We also had twenty-six convicts in our landing party. This spot near the mouth of Humpybong Creek, was where Governor Brisbane told us to build a prison settlement. When we first landed the site looked beautiful with its red cliffs, a good supply of fresh water and wide open spaces. Forests behind the shore were filled with tall trees so the business of house building began later on that very day.’

  ‘Was I with you and Father then?’

  ‘You were still growing inside me and you must have been eager to see Red Cliff because you were born one week later on the 21st of September. Everyone was so pleased to welcome you, the first baby to arrive in the new settlement. We named you, Amity Moreton Thompson, after the Brig, Amity that brought us to this place.’

  ‘What’s a brig, Mum?’

  ‘It’s a two masted ship with large square sails. Captain Charles Penson took all of us on board at Sydney. The explorer, John Oxley, joined us there with pens of sheep, goats and pigs. We carried extra provisions for six months to keep us alive. It took two weeks to sail up to Moreton Bay on that crowded ship.’

  ‘What happened after that?’

  ‘All the men, soldiers and convicts, set about building homes for the families and barracks for the prisoners to sleep in. Later they made a kiln, a kitchen and weir well, the soldiers’ barracks and a commandment’s house. Gardens were dug and planted so we could begin to grow fresh food. Within several months we had settled in quite well until one by one, things began to go wrong.’

  ‘Is this next part scary, Mum?’

  ‘No darling.’ Mary smiled and held Amity closer. ‘The local native people called the Ningy Ningy, wanted us to leave this place so they began a series of attacks. A young soldier was killed. Our sheep were all lost or stolen and we never found them again. Because it proved to be a summer of drought, our supply of fresh water ran out. Hordes of mosquitoes almost drove us mad. Thankfully our family could sleep under netting or we would have been kept awake all night by their whining and biting. And because the beach was so shallow, it was impossible to anchor large ships. After ten months of living at Red Cliff we were all ordered to abandon Humpybong. By then everyone was happy to leave. We moved south into a new home, on the shores of the Brisbane River in Moreton Bay.’

  ‘Will we ever go back again to see Humpybong?’ Amity asked sleepily.

  ‘I don’t think so, Amity. We are well settled now at the new Moreton Bay Penal Colony. Because father is an officer, his skills are needed here. This is a safer place where all of us are happy to be among many new friends.’

  Amity yawned then asked her final question. ‘Why was our first home called Humpybong? It has such a strange name, doesn’t it?’

  ‘When we sailed away we had to abandon all our houses and buildings. The Ningy Ningy clan called our empty buildings, oompiebongs. This means dead houses in their language, so this place became known as Humpybong.’

  Amity’s eyes closed and soon she was fast asleep. Mary kissed her daughter goodnight, blew out her candle then gently shut the bedroom door behind her.

  LANDSCAPES REMEMBERED

  Last night I dreamed of Coleraine. In my waking memory its image is fleeting, but I still recall a sign near the long driveway displaying its name. With acres of open range, a blazing colour of floral garden beds and the elegant two storey homestead with sweeping verandas on three sides, what could the dream signify? This episode had aroused such an aching within me I decided to talk to Geoff about it at breakfast.

  My partner is a successful vet who specializes in large animal diseases. He travels the length and breadth of the countryside, helping station owners and breeders with their livestock problems. Occasionally when I’m free, I join him on these trips. We both love the Australian outback, its vastness and emptiness—its intense colour—The Drylands, as we call it.

  ‘Geoff, I had a strange dream last night about a place called, Coleraine. I looked up the name on a search engine and found that Coleraine is a large town in the Irish county of Londonderry. In Gaelic, its name means, ‘nook of the ferns.’ There is a town by that same name on the Glenelg Highway in Victoria and another in Itaska County in Northern Minnesota. But none of these places seem to fit into my dream.’

  ‘Gwen, this is a real coincidence!’ Geoff spoke excitedly as he leaned forward in his chair. ‘I was just going to tell you that I’m leaving again tomorrow morning, for a remote station. Can you come along with me?’ He had that open, adventurous look on his face I loved so much. ‘I’d really appreciate your company as we’ll be away for several days. And would you believe it, the place we’ll be visiting is called, Coleraine.’

  I could barely contain my excitement as I replied, ‘Absolutely, I’ll join you. I have a deadline to meet on a piece of writing, but I’ll bring along my laptop and work on it at the station. Oh Geoff, this might be the place I dreamed about.’

  We packed that evening and found ourselves on the road just before sunrise. During the second morning Geoff remarked, ‘It’s not that far away now.’ I squeezed his hand with excitement. ‘We should reach the outside gate of Coleraine in a few more minutes, Gwen.’

  No sign marked its dusty road. We followed an endless track until I experienced a hint of recognition when we passed a windmill. Then surprising myself, I called out, ‘Geoff, after this hill crests, you should catch your first glimpse of the house. It’s very large and elegant. There is a circular drive filled with flowers near the front door. In its centre is a fountain set in a small reflecting pool.’

  But as we reached the hill top, only the run-down shell of an old house appe
ared below. It was unpainted and the large verandas had been removed. Neither a flower nor a fountain was in sight. The working sheds scattered behind it were all in the same state of disrepair. I was in shocked disbelief as we reached a dusty circular drive and pulled up near the front entrance. The entire homestead looked dilapidated and uncared for. What could have happened here to change things so drastically?

  ‘Gwen, I’m sorry to disappoint you but this can’t be the house you saw in your dream. It may have been splendid long ago but it’s recently seen some hard times. Let’s get out and find the station owners. Don’t fret, sweetie. We’ll still have an enjoyable time here.’

  Hand in hand we walked to the entrance. A woman’s voice called out, ‘Welcome to Coleraine. I’m Mary O’Neil. Bill and I have been looking forward to your visit.’ A tall raw-boned woman held out her arms and gave us each a big hug. I warmed to her immediately. ‘You’ve been on the road a long time and I’ve got the jug boiling. Come on in and let’s get acquainted.’

  As we entered the kitchen, a strong, burly cattleman put out his hand. ‘Gwen and Geoff is it? I’m Bill, and you are both welcome.’ As we tucked into Mary’s country-style cooking the couple shared their story.

  ‘Two years ago this property came on the market and it was in our price range so we grabbed it. The house isn’t much to look at but there are acres of prime grazing land. Mary and I run over three hundred head of cattle here on agistment.’

  Mary added, ‘Thomas Hanlon built the original house in 1882 for his wife and their five daughters. It must have been grand in its glory days. Everyone regarded it as the showplace of the district.’

  ‘What happened to the house since then?’ I asked.

  ‘After the fire of 1895, the back of the house and most of the verandas had gone. Two of the Hanlon daughters perished in the flames. The rest of the house was saved but the family was so destroyed by it all, they just pulled up stakes and walked away.’

  ‘What an awful ending to their story,’ I replied.

  ‘Finish your tea, Geoff, then we’ll saddle up.’ Bill rose from the table. ‘One or two of my steers aren’t doing so well and I need the advice of a vet.’

  ‘Let’s have a look at them.’ Geoff took out his medical bag and the men departed.

  Mary and I cleared the table and washed up. ‘What do you plan to do with yourself, Gwen, while I carry on in the yard?’

  ‘I brought my laptop together with some work. Can you set me up at a table next to a power point, Mary? I’m finishing a piece of writing that’s due next week.’ As soon as I had settled down Mary moved outside to her vegetable garden.

  ***

  Time flew by until the clock chimed three. Geoff and Bill had returned. The first scent of a baking dinner wafted through the rooms. We all met in the dining room for afternoon tea to enjoy Mary’s buttermilk cake covered with rich chocolate icing.

  ‘Geoff is a good vet, Mary, and he put my mind to rest. The cattle will be fine and some antibiotics will fix up the steers that worried me,’ Bill explained. ‘Now we can all relax.’

  ‘We eat just before sundown,’ Mary told us. ‘Bill and I turn in early because we get up with the chooks. After your long drive you might enjoy a quiet evening too. And we found something I know you will both enjoy looking at.’ Mary showed us a ragged cardboard folder as she continued. ‘Not long ago Bill stumbled upon this, covered with dust on the shelf in a back shed. When we opened it, we discovered several pictures that probably belonged to the original Hanlon family. In a few days the Charleville Historical Society is coming to collect them, but before they go, you’ll both find the pictures interesting.’

  As Mary removed three sepia-tinted photographs my hands suddenly began to shake. Why did I feel a sudden sense of apprehension? Bill passed the first picture across the table to Geoff and me. ‘Look at this family all gathered in the parlour. Thomas Hanlon and Marie are seated in the centre. She’s such an elegant woman in her lace trimmed dress and pearl necklace. Standing behind them in a semicircle are their five daughters. They were all beautiful girls and their parents must have been so proud of them.’

  Suddenly Geoff exclaimed, ‘Gwen, look at this daughter, the third from the left. She is the exact image of you.’

  ‘Why she could be your twin, Gwen!’ Mary called out in amazement. I looked carefully at her and had to agree that our likeness was uncanny.

  ‘If you rolled your hair back and pinned it away from your face you could be this young woman.’ Bill remarked.

  ‘Turn the picture over as there are names written on the back,’ Mary suggested.

  ‘The date, 1890, is inscribed on the front of the photograph so this picture was taken before the fire. Yes, there is a list of names on the back, written in a darker ink. Most likely these were added later.’

  ‘Read out loud what it says, Bill.’

  ‘The names start at the left and move across. Emma, Fanny, after her name it says RIP, Georgina, also RIP, Edith and Margaret. It seems that Fanny and your look-alike, Georgina, must have both died in the fire,’ Bill nodded toward me. ‘On the next line it identifies Thomas Hanlon and Marie Hanlon.’

  Mary took up the next picture, a smaller photograph in a slim oval frame. It featured a young man dressed in full military uniform, mounted on a horse. Mary read from the back, ‘Lieutenant Patrick O’Neil.’ Lifting it up Mary exclaimed, ‘And isn’t he handsome!’

  ‘We’ve kept the best for last,’ Bill said as he held up a large photograph of Coleraine, taken from the road in front of the house. I cried aloud as there it was—the elegant white house behind a floral bed. In the centre of the circular driveway was a two tiered fountain.

  ‘Geoff! That’s the house I saw in my dream. It’s Coleraine, exactly as I dreamt it.’ Then for no reason I burst into tears as Geoff came to my chair and put his arms around me.

  ‘It was only a dream about something that happened long ago. Let it go, Gwen. What is really important is that you and I are here now with Mary and Bill.’ Nodding toward them both he continued, ‘Thanks for sharing your pictures with us.’

  Bill stood up to collect the photos. ‘I’m sorry the last one upset you so much, Gwen.’

  ‘I don’t know what came over me but I’m fine now,’ I replied.

  My composure returned and later we enjoyed a delicious dinner and a bottle of red wine we had brought along. We all had a good laugh over Bill’s tales of his early days as a cattle man. After the table was cleared and the dishes washed, Bill and Mary excused themselves. ‘Breakfast is on at 6:30 tomorrow morning. We’ll see you in the dining room.’

  ‘This was a great dinner, Mary and we’ll be off right after breakfast.’

  As the night was peaceful we decided to step outside for a moment, to admire the sweep of stars spread above us in the shining heavens. The Milky Way traced its meandering river of white through the darkness, as far as the eye could see. All this beauty took our breath away. It was a perfect end to the day.

  ***

  I never dreamed of Coleraine again—not the station surrounded by acres of open range with its dilapidated old house and dry, dusty roadways, or the beautiful white timber home with its floral gardens and gracious fountain. Yet in my fleeting memories I know I lived there long ago.

  SEEING RED

  Diverting off the main highway and onto a detour, we patiently move along the old Murphy Road. Only two narrow lanes of trucks and cars are coming and going. Everyone is drawn together in their determination to survive another four o’clock traffic build-up. I see a few familiar faces but no one smiles. Everyone looks dog tired, so a quick nod will do for today. Slowly we crawl ahead in the overpowering heat of a late afternoon.

  Suddenly a commotion erupts behind me. Along the shoulder of the road on my left, a red Audi convertible with its top down streaks by us all. The driver is a young blonde guy wearing a white sport jacket and big black sunglasses. Laughing, he sits on his horn while giving all of us the finger. I’ve neve
r seen him before, the crazy hoon, and he obviously doesn’t know this road. Right in front of him, just over the top of Logan’s Rise, the shoulder he’s speeding on will suddenly disappear. It’s the spot where the overflow from Diggery Creek cascades into a culvert, directly under the roadway. In a few seconds he’ll either crash or come to a screaming halt. Which will it be?

  Driving over the rise I hear the loud screeching of his brakes. Enveloped in clouds of dust he’s managed to stop, just before nose diving into the water. His right signal flashes as he tries to pull in onto the roadway. Everyone sits on their horns laughing as they pass him by. Some wave and others give him the finger. He edges closer to the traffic flow, attempting to push and shove his way back in. As he shakes his clenched fist in the air, every vehicle moves closer together. Our line of cars now resembles a tightly linked chain. We grind on and on. Nobody gives way to him.

  Watching the drama unfold in my rear vision mirror, I suspect he’ll be waiting there for at least another twenty minutes. ‘Serves you right, Lover Boy,’ I say aloud. ‘So much for your little road rage drama. Mind your manners and stew there until the sun goes down. Then you can finally drive away!’

  FLYING BLIND

  ‘This has been an absolute bugger of a weekend! Thirty-six hours without sleep, two days of tough negotiations and still no contract. Then I stupidly dropped my glasses down a flight of concrete stairs. When I collected them at the bottom, the frame was hopelessly bent and one lens was smashed. So here I am now—stumbling around—only able to see a metre in front of my face. Well at least I can go home and catch up on some sleep,’ Peter muttered aloud.

  Peter Bolcombe made his way to the airport departure desk, squinting as his suitcase moved safely through the check-out. Next he secured his boarding pass in his back pocket. Now his biggest problem was finding the correct departure gate; not a simple task when you can’t see very well. He walked for a long time trying in vain to find his way. ‘I’ve come too far or maybe taken a wrong turn. Better ask someone for help,’ Peter whispered to himself. Just then a small motorized travel buggy swerved out of his path.