by David Vernon
“What people, honey?”
“There,” her finger pointing through the twilight to the lake, “The Blue Rock people: I hear them, under the water.” Then Beth was there beside them,
“I don’t think there are people under the water Lolly,” and her voice shook.
“Then who rings the church’s bells Mummy? And the crying and talking, who makes those noises, Mummy?”
“What church bells, Lolly?”
“There’s no bells hon, just water,” Dan said.
Lolly shook her head, frustrated, “Not always Daddy, the people were there before, before the water, in the mines and the hall and the farms and before them the dark men with the dreams — words I don’t understand — they’re always still there Daddy.” Then the child shrugged and turned back to the window and wouldn’t speak another word. So, Beth cleaned up the glass and Dan served up dinner, which no one ate and Beth wrote down the conversation “for the psychologist” and emailed the specialist and Lolly fell asleep and the dark water of the lake held its secrets.
Later in bed, Beth asked, “How does she even know what church bells and mines are?”
“I don’t know, she probably saw it on TV, she can listen you know.”
“Why hasn’t she spoken ‘til now?”
“I don’t know Beth, let it go.”
Let it go — the next day he Googled it [Blue Rock Dam history]. There were only four entries, three of them spoke of megalitres and hydroelectricity and Gippsland’s water supply. The fourth was a Wikipedia entry that read, “The dam, known as Blue Rock Lake was named after an early goldmine in the region. Construction ran from 1979-1984. The dam can hold 208,000 megalitres …”
“But what was there before?” Dan murmured, but that was a question that Google couldn’t answer.
A few days later, Dan asked the neighbouring farmer, Johnny, as they cut back the trees along the dirt road the two properties shared, he answered, “Well, it was before my time, but there were a few buildings. My father used to talk ‘bout it. There was the hall and a church, and of course the mine, there were houses and all too I think. Why you asking?”
“No reason, just curious I guess. Did you say a church?”
“That’s what my Dad told me,” and they went back to hauling branches and that seemed to be the end of that.
Lolly did not speak, though Beth stepped up the specialists and research with manic determination and all her talk of returning to teaching was forgotten. Dan continued to walk the lake edges with Lolly and as the summer heat grew, the water level dropped. One day, six weeks after her first word and first sentence and first question, Lolly paused mid-step and grabbed Dan’s arm, “See Daddy, they’re the Ghost Gums and they’re all dead and green at the same time,” then she laughed and ran careening along the lake shore. Dan looked across the water, to where she had pointed, the water had dropped far enough that the top of long drowned trees poked their thin, dead fingers above the dark water.
Two days later, Dan asked Johnny as they hauled more branches, “What sort of gums grow round here?”
“Ghost Gums mostly, at least they’re the real tall ones,” and he gestured at the trees towering above them. Though the day was hot, Dan saw that he’d broken out in goose bumps and he carefully neglected to mention Lolly’s latest words to Beth, who was already worrying at the last conversation like a terrier at a dead rat.
It was late summer when Dan heard the crying. He sat up in bed, awake and adrenalin pumping as the sobs drifted through the sleeping house. He ran to Lolly’s bedroom, she was sitting up, wide-eyed, but silent, “See Daddy, the little boy from the lake is crying, he woke me up.” Twenty minutes later Dan had searched the house and walked down to the lake, as he reached the shore, the crying stopped. He didn’t wake Beth and went so far as to caution his daughter, “Don’t tell Mummy, she worries,” but Lolly had only turned over and gone to sleep.
Dan saw Johnny at the store, a week later and asked, “Is the lake safe to swim in? Have any children ever drowned?”
But Johnny had just shook his head, “Not in my memory — of course they found the body there.”
“What body?”
“That young boy, baby really, only one or two years old, murdered and dumped off the dam wall. What, must have been ’97 or ’98, all history now.”
“Yeah, all history now,” Dan went home and didn’t speak to Beth of Ghost Gums or dead babies at all.
As summer drifted into autumn, Dan walked the lake, sometimes alone, sometimes with Lolly. She didn’t speak, but that was okay, because now Dan was listening to the lake. And Dan heard church bells and the fall of the pick axe on quartz and the murmurs of miners voices and older voices too, unintelligible and singing and mingled with the beat of clapsticks and bullroarer. And pied currawong called and bellbirds and he swore the notes came from the lake, not the trees above it. Late at night, if it were still, he heard a baby cry.
The autumn nights grew longer and Beth didn’t notice that her husband had lost weight. She didn’t see the circles under his eyes, nor the grey invading his hair. Her days were taken up with ‘fixing Lolly’s problem’ and her nights were spent with too much wine and not enough love. Beth didn’t notice when her husband took to wearing ear-plugs to sleep, nor the fact that they did not seem to help. By early winter, Dan spent most nights on the porch watching the lake and listening. Once, at the beginning of May, Lolly joined him and said, “The lake people are loud for you now Daddy,” and he only nodded and bundled her back to bed.
In mid-June Dan went for a walk and he did not come home. Then, there was the aftermath that follows such a disappearance, the police (were you fighting ma’am?) and SES and locals combing the bush, the divers and boats dragging the water. In the bustle of activity no-one at all heard the last thing that Lolly ever said, “He’s with the miners and the farmers now and the dark men dreaming. I hear him. Daddy’s gone. He’s with the lake people now. Daddy’s all history now.”
Frances Warren lives in Gippsland and teaches History and Psychology at a rural high school. She lives next to Blue Rock Lake, a man-made dam that was created by flooding a mountain valley, including homes, a church and gold mines. This short story is loosely based on events in the district and the townships surrounding the lake.
Done Right
— Donna Fieldhouse
Lachlan Dunn lifted his eyes from the book he was trying to read. He studied his uncle in the dim lamplight. “What you all done up for?”
Thaiter grinned and finished tucking his clean shirt into his trousers. “It’s me birthday. I’m off ta the Cosmopolitan for a couple.”
“Your birthday?” Lachlan laughed.
“You’ll note. I’m done right. Clean and shaven.” Thaiter did a spin and twinkled his eyebrows. “I might get lucky tonight.”
“Ah …” Lachlan smirked. “Have you got ya mighty ‘Dunn Spirit’ in ya back pocket cause I reckon you might need it if lucks what ya wantin’.”
Thaiter winked. He lifted his dirty worn hat from the table. Placed it on his ginger head and ambled across the room. Lachlan grinned and let his eyes drift back to the pages of his book as the door groaned behind Thaiter.
At the Cosmopolitan, Thaiter leant against the bar and waited to be served. James Gibbs, the publican, was in deep discussion with a man who had a fancy case filled with papers. Thaiter wondered who the stranger was and what was so important it had James keeping his customers waiting.
“Hey, James! A man could die of thirst waiting for a drink around here.”
James jerked his head, served Thaiter, then went back to his conversation.
Thaiter headed to his usual table and sat with Hugh Munro the blacksmith, William Paton the baker and Old Tom Bolch. “What’s goin’ on there?”
Will glanced toward the bar. “Some townie bloke tryin’ to sell insurance. He came to the bakery this morning.”
“What ya mean … insurance?”
“You pay him so much mone
y every year and if somethin’ happens to ya place, like a fire, they’ll give ya enough money to build yourself another one.”
“Jeeze … that don’t sound right to me.” Thaiter frowned. “How much money he tell ya you’d have to pay?”
Will shrugged. “To tell the truth, Thaiter I wasn’t taken much notice. He came as I was getting me loaves out of the oven and the bloody dog grabbed his trouser leg.” Will studied the stranger once more. “You know the silly bastard didn’t stop talkin’ the whole time and didn’t realise I wasn’t listening to what he was saying. He didn’t even notice that Boxer had chewed half his leg off.”
They laughed and started a game of poker. Hugh dealt the cards while Thaiter went to refill their glasses.
“Come on, James! It’s me bloody birthday and I’m mighty thirsty.”
The townie smiled and stepped toward Thaiter. “Clancy Dutton from Dutton and Doyle Insurance. Many happy returns, Mister …”
Thaiter gingerly shook his hand. “Dunn … Thaiter Dunn.”
“Nice to meet you, Mister Dunn. I’m here to tell you good folks about the wonderful insurance package Dutton and Doyle are offering.”
Thaiter raised his hands in protest. “No use talkin’ ta me mister. I don’t own no business.”
Clancy slapped Thaiter on the back. “You don’t have to own a business to have insurance, Mister Dunn. Dutton and Doyle sell life insurance too.”
Thaiter’s brow crinkled. “Gibbs! Give us a tray would ya!”
Clancy Dutton went on to explain why every man should have insurance of one kind or another.
“Look, Mister Clancy …”
“Dutton. The name’s Dutton. Clancy Dutton.” He grabbed Thaiter by the hand once more and shook vigorously. “Thaiter I’m so pleased to be able to have this opportunity to talk to you about the wonderful insurance package Dutton and Doyle are offering you hard working miners. Remote places like Irvineshore don’t get …”
“Irvinebank!”
“Yes, yes Irvinebank … don’t get such wonderful offers everyday like us city folks. So Dutton and Doyle thought why not make the effort. Let hard working men like yourself have the same opportunity. The same protection against disaster. After all its men like you who are the backbone of our society. If it weren’t for miners, Thacker, the country …”
“Thaiter! The name’s, Thaiter!”
“Ah … yes, err … Thaiter. Please forgive me I’ve met so many men. Interested men and as you will appreciate names are rolling all over the place in my head. Now as I was saying. Dutton and Doyle understand the needs of men like you and that’s why I’m here. To spread the word you could say.” Clancy pulled his shoulders back, laughed and turned his body to address the entire room. “Perhaps I should have been a priest … ”
Thaiter took the opportunity to escape the clutches of Clancy Dutton. He grabbed the tray of drinks and sat down at his table with a sigh of relief. Old Tom was laughing into his cards. Hugh hid his grin with his hand but William Paton beamed.
“Told you, Thaiter. The man doesn’t have ears in his head.”
In disgust, Thaiter looked toward the bar. Dutton had Herbert Armstrong, the manager of Jack and Newell’s Merchant Store, cornered.
Something told him this smooth talking townie was a liar, here to swindle the hard working people of Irvinebank out of their well-earned cash.
“If the bastard comes anywhere near me again I might find it terrible tough not to put a fist in his big mouth.”
It wasn’t long before Clancy approached the group. Thaiter’s jovial mood had vanished due to his alcohol intake and loss of funds. He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest and looked Clancy up and down.
He was a tall weedy man, whose sharp pointed features could almost be feminine if it hadn’t been for the five o’clock shadow on his chin. His suit was tailored and expensive. The dark bowler hat was far too clean for Thaiter’s liking. Some people had the opinion that if a man’s hat didn’t have a mark on it, he wasn’t an honest, hard-working man.
Thaiter had another theory. It could be a man might have two hats. One for working and one for church. Still … a man with two hats was a man who fancied himself a little too … much.
Thaiter didn’t like men who fancied themselves.
He unfolded his arms and stood up. “I’ve had enough of listening to you, mister!” He bellowed, lifted the edge of the table and turned it over. “I don’t trust no man whose hat ain’t got a speck of dust on it!”
Clancy fell backwards. The table came crashing toward him. Will, Hugh and Old Tom staggered to their feet swearing and cursing. Cards, money and beer scattered everywhere.
“Jesus, Thaiter! What the hell you think ya doing?” Hugh exclaimed.
“I’m sick of hearing the sound of this dandy’s voice. Fuckin’ insurance my arse! I’m gonna see he gets done right. Stand up, Mister Clancy from Fuckin’ Doyle and Dick cause I wanna see how much protection this insurance of yours can afford ya!”
Old Tom whispered to Will Paton to run and get Lachlan.
Thaiter bent and grabbed Clancy by the collar. He jerked him to his feet and shook him. “I’m a disaster about to happen, Mister Clancy Dandy Dutton or whatever ya fuckin’ name is. So … I’m waiting … ” Thaiter looked around the bar. “Any of you blokes see that insurance he’s talkin’ about … ? Is it coming yet, to protect him?”
The room exploded with laughter. Thaiter pushed Clancy on the floor, reached for one of the tumbled chairs and held it above his head. “Hey, Gibbs! Did you buy any of that insurance from this bloke?”
“That’s enough, Thaiter!” James Gibbs came around the counter. “The man’s just tryin’ to make a living like the rest of us.”
“Pig’s arse he is! Sounds to me he’s trying to swindle you mob and I’m here to make sure me mates aren’t done right outa their dough.”
“How about you put me chair down or it’ll be you that’s out of dough.”
Thaiter grinned and staggered backwards. Clancy, now on his feet, lunged at Thaiter and drove his fist into Thaiter’s side. The chair smashed to the floor. By the time Thaiter righted himself Clancy had removed his jacket and was prancing around with his fists held high in front of him.
“What the hell is that?” In disbelief Thaiter burst into the laughter. “He’s dancing the highland fling!”
Clancy positioned himself in a Queensbury boxing stance. “I’ll show you I’m no dandy, Sir. Ready yourself, if you please.”
Standing flat-footed Thaiter spat on his palms and raised his fists. He grinned again as Clancy skipped backwards and forwards. A sharp slap-like punch caught Thaiter on the face. He shook his head.
Clancy gave a satisfied nod. “That’s an example, Sir, of what you will have to endure if you wish to continue.”
“Jesus, Mother Mary and Joseph.” Thaiter roared and landed a heavy blow on Clancy’s chin. Clancy dropped like a rock. The crowd cooeed and thumped their feet on the floor.
In the excitement Thaiter lifted another chair and slammed it down. Mimicking Clancy he danced around the piece of broken furniture.
Gibbs grabbed him by the arm. “That’s enough, Thaiter. I ain’t having you smashin’ up me place!”
Thaiter, adrenalin pumping, thought Gibbs was having a go at him so shot a punch. It caught James on the shoulder. With that another man took a swing at Thaiter.
Lachlan strode through the door as Thaiter knocked the man backwards with a blow to the stomach. He stepped between the two men and held his hand out to Thaiter. “How about you give it a rest, eh?”
“Get outa me way, Lachlan. This bastard wants a piece of me.”
“Yeah … well you can finish it tomorrow.”
Thaiter pushed Lachlan on the chest. “I said, get out of me way.”
Lachlan stood his ground. “And I said enough.”
Thaiter thrust his body forward to shove Lachlan aside. Lachlan rammed Thaiter backwards. Thaiter stumbled. When he re
gained his balance he held up his fists.
“So it’s come to this has it? Me own family turnin’ against me.”
“You’ve had enough, Thaiter. So give it away.”
Clancy roused and watched his short, bow legged opponent throw a punch at the newcomer. He took a mental note to remember to offer the newcomer some insurance.
“Ah … fuck, Thaiter.” Lachlan ducked. “You’re gonna make me hit ya … ain’t ya?”
“Come on big man! Let’s see what you got.” Thaiter shaped up.
“Jesus, Thaiter. I just want to get back to me book.”
Thaiter lunged.
Lachlan sidestepped. He waited for Thaiter to straighten up then let go with a right hook which dropped Thaiter to the ground.
Then again, Clancy mused. The newcomer might not need insurance.
As if he were a sack of potatoes, Lachlan lifted Thaiter and slung him across his shoulders. He cocked his head at James Gibbs. “Sorry, Gibbs, he didn’t mean no harm. His birthday … a few too many. I’ll see he comes back tomorrow to make amends.”
“No worries, Lachlan.” Gibbs lifted the upturned table and grinned. “Thaiter’s not a bad old fella. Just got a little too much ‘Dunn Spirit’, hey?”
Donna Fieldhouse lives dual lives. One with her husband and three children — the other in her head. She took up writing because she didn’t want to be ‘Just a Mum’. Since childhood Donna has told herself bedtime stories to put herself to sleep. She is sure this is why hundreds of characters live inside her head and keep pounding on her skull to get out. Donna has also been published in the Stringybark Stories anthology Between the Sheets.
Historical note: The Cosmopolitan was a hotel owned by James Gibb who was one of the founding tin prospectors of Irvinebank in Far North Queensland. After having sold his rights to John Moffatt (mining magnate of the period) Irvinebank became one of the largest and most successful tin mining towns in its time. Gibbs Creek which runs through the town is named after James Gibbs. Hugh Munro was the town's blacksmith, Will Paton the baker and Herbert Armstrong was the manager of Jack and Newell’s Merchant Store in the 1890's. Lachlan, Tom, Thaiter and Clancy are figments of my imagination.