The Bay (15 page)

Eddie had heard the story so often in the past two years. It was the story of The Bay, but it applied to a lot of other places along the coast as well.

‘Gotta circulate with the cheese,' said Amber. ‘See you.'

Tina Cook finished the paperwork in her office at the lighthouse reserve and set out on another scheduled patrol. ‘Showing the flag' she called it. A few tourists were around as usual, hanging over the railing or looking through the mounted telescope. An overweight woman draped with a big shoulder bag, camera and binoculars hailed her in a broad American drawl. ‘Say, ranger, where are the dolphins? We were told they're always here. We've been on all the beaches round about and haven't seen one.' She sounded irritable, and her remark seemed to suggest that Tina, as ranger, could make them appear.

Tina gave a shrug and smiled nicely. ‘The dolphins choose when to appear, ma'am. They're not on the payroll. You're really lucky, because you have the chance to make yourself comfortable at one of the lookouts and do the relaxation and meditation bit while you're waiting for them. A chance to get in tune with nature, you know what I mean. People pay big money for that sort of opportunity. Enjoy your day.' She turned and went down the walkway before the American could reply.

A dilapidated car rolled up to her and Eddie leaned out the window. ‘Hi, we spoke on the phone. Eddie Harley. Can you spare me a few minutes?'

Tina swallowed the flippant remark that came to mind. Who wouldn't spare time for this attractive man? ‘Of course. You're after some archival stuff for your film, right?'

Eddie got out of the car and shook her hand, thinking few women would look that good in baggy khaki shorts and a drab shirt.

‘How can National Parks help?' Tina asked.

‘I was hoping to plunder the archives.'

‘They're not official. Some stuff belongs to the Maritime Services Board, some to local families, the so-called historical society. It's all kept up here on National Parks property because it's secure, I suppose.'

‘So let's make it unofficial. Can you help me?'

‘Come over to what passes as my office and tell me what you're trying to do.'

Eddie sipped the bad instant coffee she'd made him as he stumbled through his vague theme for the documentary. ‘It's a bit fuzzy, but talking it out seems to help clarify things a bit. Maybe I can draw parallels with past events that impact on today.'

‘Where do you think The Bay should go, Eddie?'

He paused, sensing this was an important question to her. ‘Well, I've only been here a couple of years. I know what I came for, but things are never quite what one expects.'

‘You're disappointed?' she asked.

‘Not in The Bay, I mean other aspects of my life didn't quite work out as planned.' He turned his coffee mug, avoiding her eyes. ‘But I feel protective about the place. Sort of like I slipped in under the gate and I don't want the hordes to follow. Is that being selfish?'

‘That's a question the whole town has to answer.' She leaned forward. ‘Have you heard about some big development planned down along Mighty Beach?'

‘There always seem to be rumours that some celeb has bought a chunk of prime land, the white-shoe brigade are heading this way followed by the fast food and resort people. None have arrived as far as I can tell.'

Tina still looked serious. ‘They're a subversive lot. They keep hammering away. You hit them on the head and they go away, wait a while, then slither back and try again. Like cane toads. We have to be on our guard and mobilise people power. It's a funny thing about this place. You wouldn't find a more diverse group of people – who disagree on everything. Yet when it comes to keeping out the big boys, they speak as one.'

‘I was asked to shoot some footage for a green group showing how beautiful and pristine parts of The Bay are, and then they took me to other areas that have been stuffed up. I was shocked at the bad sewerage system, it's a huge issue. Soil erosion, the pollution in the creeks and rivers, the loss of some of the wetlands, some truly ugly suburban housing estates . . . The rest of the country looks on this as paradise, but there's a serpent or three waving bucks and slithering into the garden.' He drained his coffee, suddenly embarrassed.

She applauded him. ‘Seems to me like you're getting a story together. There are several people out in the hills working on answers to some of those things. Maybe you'd like to meet them.'

‘Old hippies or young guns?' asked Eddie. He didn't want to waste money on unusable footage wandering after a bunch of radicals or spaced-out weirdos.

Tina heard the sceptical note in his voice and changed tack. ‘Both. But you wanted the historical stuff. Let's work forward from that. Follow me.' She took a bunch of keys off her cluttered little desk and headed outside.

‘Hey, this is great. We get to climb all the steps?' He tilted his head back and looked up at the top of the lighthouse as Tina unlocked the old wooden door.

‘I do it every day.'

No wonder she looked so fit. He walked into the darkness then Tina flipped a switch showing the round stone walls and a steel spiral staircase in the centre.

‘Nice and cool in here,' he remarked.

‘The walls are thick. Like a good wine cellar.' Her footsteps clanged on the narrow iron treds. ‘Follow me.'

Daylight shone in from the tiny latched windows, and Eddie was glad to see they were near the top. Had Tina deliberately skipped so quickly up the stairs to test him, or was it just that she was familiar with every step? ‘How many times a day do you do this?'

‘At least once, it keeps me healthy. Want to take a look from the top?' They stepped through a small doorway onto the windy parapet that surrounded the tower and were hit by the brilliant sunlight.

‘Oh, wow.' Eddie was struck by the panorama spread before them. ‘How stunning. Got to bring the camera up here.'

‘It is fabulous . . . sunrise and sunset are best.'

Eddie felt like a boy getting a ride on a fire engine. ‘This is fantastic!' he called to Tina as he gazed out to sea. ‘I'm going to walk around again.' He set off, hanging onto the railing as he circled the top, taking in the three hundred and sixty degree view of the coast, the sheltered bay, the ocean to the horizon, across the town and away to the hills.

‘There's more. Not for public display though,' said Tina when he came back inside.

He followed her down the spiralling stairs to the lower level, past the ‘engine room' where the light mechanism took up most of the space. ‘It's really a magnificent structure.' He gazed at the French glass prisms.

‘Over seven hundred of them – all original,' she said. ‘The whole thing floats in a mercury bath, quite ingenious. It was powered like a grandfather clock in the old days, cast-iron weights on chains are in the central pillar of the stairwell.'

‘So now it's powered by electricity.' Eddie peered beneath the light at a 12-volt car battery. ‘Is that the backup for a power failure?'

‘Yep,' laughed Tina. ‘The light never stops turning. A photo-sensitive mechanism turns it on and off at dusk and dawn.'

‘Why does it keep turning?' asked Eddie, watching the slow revolution of the huge light.

‘Concentrated UV rays could damage the glass or focus a beam of light strong enough to start a bushfire or damage someone's eyesight.'

At the bottom of the stairs Tina unlocked a door to one side of the tiled entrance and beckoned him inside. The room was once used by the lighthouse keepers on their watch. There was an old comfortable swivel chair, a bench that served as a desk, and a chest of drawers with a Primus stove and old kettle on it. A tin mug hung on a hook with an old chart of the coastline beside it.

Tina pulled open the chest of drawers, revealing piles of folders filled with papers and pictures. ‘This is recent stuff from various places like the library, the old people's home, the local newspaper when they became computerised.' She bent down and tugged at a large trunk. ‘This is the old stuff.'

Eddie helped her pull it out and manoeuvre the old lock. When the lid was open the smell of camphor was overpowering.

‘I didn't know what to do so I tossed in the mothballs. Seems to be working. It's cool in here so the humidity hasn't got to anything. I check them every couple of months. Have a delve,' she offered, sitting back on a chair watching him.

Eddie caught his breath and with some reverence began to pull out old books, an ornate photo album, a slightly watermarked family Bible with a family tree itemised in the front, old ships' logs, several framed pictures of vessels, and then a leather-bound book caught his eye. He drew out the heavy volume and lightly smoothed the cover before opening it.

Inside the fly leaf was written in a neat, flowing hand, ‘
The journal of the
Lady Richmond,
as kept by Hannah Nilsen, begun at sea in the year of Our Lord, eighteen hundred and ninety-five
.'

Eddie looked at Tina. ‘I'd like to read this.'

‘I can't let you take it off the Cape. But bring a packed lunch any day and camp in my office.'

‘I'll be back as soon as I can.' He watched her repack the trunk. ‘Have you read all this material?'

‘I've skimmed through it. I don't have a lot of spare time up here, you know. One day I'll tell you what my job involves.'

‘I'd like that.'

‘I was just kidding. It's pretty boring most of the time.' She locked the door behind them and they stepped out into the sunlight. ‘I don't know what use this old stuff might be, but you said you wanted to start at the beginning.' She was rather looking forward to the idea of Eddie hanging around and delving into ‘the archives'.

‘I'd like to start right now but I have to collect my daughter from her surf lesson.'

‘Oh, right. Well maybe I'll see you soon then.'

‘You will,' Eddie promised. ‘You certainly will.'

We are in Southern Pacific waters. Temperature 81 degrees F. Seas calm. Wind N-NE.

We are blessed this day by fair weather and a goodly breeze. It has brought much relief after high humidity. Mrs Nilsen gave birth to a healthy boy with the Captain's assistance at 2.15 this morn. The Captain informed the crew and toasts to anoint the wee one's head were raised. They have named him Sven Richmond Nilsen I am informed, after his paternal grandfather and the Richmond owners of our vessel.

The Captain hopes to reach the shores of New South Wales in three weeks hence as Mrs Nilsen desires that the child be christened in the company of her family.

George J. Bain, First Mate

Hannah fell back on her pillow, glad the baby was feeding well. She was tired and had suffered as other wives had told her she would. But if this is wifely duty then so be it. The prize of a fine strong son was worth it, as had been the joy in her dear husband's eyes. This great intimacy, she thought, had given their marriage added strength. But how she wished to share her child with her own mother. Lars had told her the
Lady Richmond
would be heaving down at the new dock at Mosman so she could spend time at Sydney with her parents. After the christening they were to sail south to Twofold Bay for half a year as they had been told the whaling outlook was promising.

‘My dearest Hannah. How I hated to see you suffer so.' Lars Nilsen sat at the edge of their bed and tenderly took his wife's hand. ‘You are still pale.'

‘But I feel very well, Lars, and see how rosy and happy our son is.' She drew the baby from her breast. Lars laid a finger against the soft cheek and the boy's eyes sprang open, showing pale blue that matched those of his father. But swiftly the pursed lips sought once more the comforting milk-filled breast.

Lars chuckled. ‘He is a fine one. When you feel able, some time on deck in the fresh air will do you good. The crew have rigged a shaded spot with sail canvas where you will be cool and comfortable.' He paused for a moment. ‘Should we have another child, I hope you will be cared for in more hospitable surroundings. I knew what had to be done, but I confess, I was fearful. I felt I'd rather face a maddened whale. It is a large responsibility to see mother and child delivered safely from the ordeal.'

Hannah smiled at his confession. Fear was not an emotion she ever associated with her husband, and it was strange to hear it on his lips. ‘Dear Lars, I think you and Sven will always share a special bond because of this. And I have never regretted coming to sea with you. Not once.'

I gather my strength every day and little Sven grows so sturdy. I give thanks for all these blessings.

My heart aches at the knowledge that Mrs Daniels of the
Franklin
lost her babe after just three days. Though it seems should they have been ashore with the very best of doctors, little could have been done to save the poor tiny infant born before its time. Not all news I have recently learned is so sad. There are many whales this season and Lars believes he knows the direction they are headed. Of course the rest of the fleet are so inclined as well. I have learned this after a wonderful gam was enjoyed by us all when we sighted the
Addison.
As we were to leeward we held back while Captain Bartholomew ran us down to windward and came alongside. Mrs Bartholomew was lowered into the whaleboat in the gaming chair – a barrel cut down with a seat and hung on a rope so we ladies may preserve our decorum in moving from one ship to another.

Young Sven was highly admired and passed around without a whimper. I was pleased the Steward managed to make sweet cakes for the occasion as I have been too indisposed to venture to the galley, which pleases Cook and Steward who rule their domain like jealous kings. Mrs Bartholomew kindly brought preserves and currant wine, and relieved us of one of the baby piglets. She agreed with me that it is distressing to carry animals on board as one does get attached to them. When Cook descends with his cleaver I cannot bring myself to enjoy the feast. Mrs Bartholomew regaled me with tales of their most recent catch – a sperm whale so large her husband persuaded her to walk between its jaws. She declared six men could stand in it in comfort. And more astonishing, inside one of its three stomachs was a giant squid as long as one of the whaleboats!

Tina read this entry aloud to Eddie. ‘Can you imagine what it must have been like for those women?' she said as she lowered the journal. ‘Having babies at sea, and all that time alone! How they must have loved their men.'

‘Probably better than being alone in a faraway country, not knowing for months on end how they were. What would you do?'

‘I'd be the captain of the ship,' declared Tina. Then she said quietly, ‘What a wonderful woman Hannah must have been, and yet no one, not even her husband, considered what she did as out of the ordinary. Today's liberated women might learn a lot from these early women.'

We came upon a large pod of whales travelling south and were witness to a rare event, which I believe even these hardened whalers found a touching sight.

The herd formed a circle around a large female, all moaning and speaking to each other – or so it seemed – as she gave birth. I could but sympathise as she twisted her body before the calf emerged tail first and began breathing and suckling. I'm told the whale mother's milk is highly rich in fat. After this event the boats moved in and tried to draw the mother away as she was a fine specimen.

I could not stand the sounds which came from that giant creature as they prised the baby from her. She lunged and took the newborn in her jaws to protect it as the other boats went for the outside herd. The mother's fight was in vain, the baby lived but such a short time.

I had to go below as I found the scene too distressing. Lars put it down to my own recent experience of birth. It is the first time I felt there was something special we shared with these creatures. I now believe that they too feel loss, pain and anger at their fate. Not a cheerful state of mind for the wife of a whaling captain.

‘Even then,' Tina said, ‘the guilt was starting to creep in. She was feeling like this despite everything she knew and all she had been exposed to. And she didn't have the knowledge we have now about how unique whales are.'

‘We still feel guilty about this today,' said Eddie. ‘Even though we weren't there and weren't responsible. It's hard to imagine throwing a harpoon into the head of such a wonderful creature. Whaling was such a horrible, messy business.'

‘It still is a horrible business even with new technology,' agreed Tina. ‘They just kill more, and more quickly.'

‘And in the name of need and so-called research. It's just greed,' Eddie said. He glanced out the office window at the tourists strolling around the headland. ‘Ironic, isn't it, that this town was once a whaling station and now attracts people who want to watch the whales.'

‘At least we acknowledge the past and celebrate the present with some awareness of what happened and how necessary it is to make amends,' said Tina. ‘It's so rewarding when I talk to schoolkids about cetaceans, looking after the ocean and beaches. They're really switched on to it all.'

‘I wonder what Hannah would think if she came back today,' mused Eddie.

‘I hope she'd approve,' smiled Tina. ‘We try our best.'

The Forester nosed down a dirt track to the gates of a farm, turning away from the distant house to the long sheds. Curly hung her head out of the window sniffing the pungent breeze, her ears back, assaulted by the sounds of hundreds of chickens. Holly parked outside a small galvanised-iron building and rapped on the door. A smiling young Indian girl opened it and led her to the cool-room filled with roses. The young girl joined two other women who were trimming the flowers and tying them into bunches.

‘Hello, Mrs Singh, how are you this week?' asked Holly.

‘Very good, very good. You like the same?' The plump woman was wearing a cotton sari with an incongruous woolly cardigan over it and thick gloves, not so much for the cold but as protection against the thorns. She spoke in Hindi to her daughter who hurried away and returned with a bucket filled with pale peach-tinged cream roses. Holly held out her own bucket and the girl transferred four large bunches of Honor roses into it.

‘Eggs? Many double yolks today,' said Mrs Singh.

‘Oh yes please, a dozen will be more than enough.' Holly paid, thanked Mrs Singh, smiled at the other woman and followed the young girl out into the hot sun. As she put the flowers into the back of the car, the girl brought her the eggs.

‘I'll bring some cartons back next week,' said Holly, waving goodbye. The Singhs were such a friendly family, hardworking and resourceful. They ran a big stall every Sunday at the market and supplied produce and flowers to shops in town.

Two more stops at farms along the winding dirt road completed her shopping. Old boxes that years ago held the milk cans left at the gate for collection by butter factory trucks were now used as mini stalls, displaying kilo bags of fruit and vegetables and an honesty box. For a few dollars Holly had bought a pile of delicious, fresh, organically grown produce. While she still enjoyed the Sunday markets, she found this peaceful drive a delightful way to buy her supplies, not only for the bargains but the sheer joy of driving through the exquisite rolling countryside. Fat Friesian cows grazed in lush green paddocks fenced by old drystone walls made by the first settlers. It looked quintessentially English, until you lifted your eyes to the volcanic mountain range to the west and the slash of brilliant blue ocean to the east.

A sense of calm always came over Holly as she drove along this road. A feeling of wellbeing, that everything was going to work out, that she could manage whatever obstacles might be ahead. She couldn't put her finger on what it was. As well as the picture perfect setting perhaps it was also a nostalgia for another era when life was ordered by the seasons. Sometimes she imagined she was back in the pioneering days, at other times the 1950s – until she rolled into the outskirts of The Bay to find a hitchhiker dressed in strange garb, with a backpack, drum or guitar, and maybe a dog, thumbing a ride and holding a sign that said ‘North'.

She was putting the produce away when Curly barked. It was a welcome bark, not her ‘Who are you?' warning. Holly peered out the window at the unfamiliar truck, then saw the dog hanging out the passenger window. It was the man from the beach with the elegant Vizsla.

‘Hello, Romany. This is a nice surprise. Are you here to remind us of the dog rally tomorrow?' Holly asked as dog and owner came towards her.

‘Well that's one reason. I'm Mitchell.' He held out his hand. ‘Sorry, I haven't been able to get here before this. I had to finish a job.'

Holly was a bit taken aback. ‘Oh, that's all right. I hadn't realised when we met at the beach.'

‘Me either. But when Lynn described you and from our conversation I figured it must have been you.'

‘Please come in. The dogs can play. Curly is thrilled to have a visitor.'

‘Always wanted to see in here,' Mitchell said as they walked inside. ‘Hmm, wonderful, isn't it?'

‘Please look around. I'll make tea. Or coffee?'

‘Either. Provided it isn't dandelion or some sort of herb. I need the caffeine,' he said lightly. ‘So you want this to be a guesthouse? A B & B, Stolle said,' he called out from the next room. ‘Are you going to live in here too or away from the house?'

‘There's an old shed I thought I could extend as separate quarters for me, or whoever ends up running the place.'

He stuck his head back into the kitchen. ‘You're not planning on staying?'

‘I do have a home and family in Sydney,' said Holly.

‘Ah yes, I remember. Beautiful downtown Mosman.'

‘It is beautiful. Nowadays. Depends on what you want, doesn't it?' said Holly a little defensively.

‘You might have to choose,' he said calmly. And before she could answer, went on, ‘This is going to take a big chunk of your life and you'll get attached. Are you fixing it up to sell as a going concern or as a potential business?'

‘Sell! Heavens no. Well, I don't think so. I hadn't thought that far down the track. I just want to get on with it. Maybe by the time it's finished I'll want to get rid of it.'

He gave her a quizzical look. ‘Do you really think you could part with this place? You're attached now, whether you know it or not, and you haven't started to make it the way you want it to be.'

‘You're right.' She turned away, his intense expression was making her uncomfortable. ‘Milk?'

After a slow inspection they sat with their mugs of tea and Holly showed Mitchell the plans Andrew had drawn up. He looked at them carefully then asked, ‘And what changes do you want made?'