The Red Coast

by Di Morrissey

  She described to her audience the colonial pearling masters in their starched white uniforms, relaxing on the decks of their shell sheds beside mountains of pearl shells, or at their latticed bungalows, surrounded by tropical gardens, where Chinese servants or young Aboriginal domestics tended to their needs.

  She talked about the colourful and often dangerous alleyways of Chinatown, where opium dens, eateries and brothels leaned together in a shantytown, and the Japanese divers who frequented their own club and enjoyed their own entertainments.

  She spoke about the tragedies caused by cyclones, and of the times when almost the entire lugger fleet had been wiped out. She told of the terrors the helmeted divers faced in the deep every season: coming into contact with sharks, the risk that the vulnerable oxygen line could be cut, or that they would be brought to the surface too quickly and die from the bends, caused by nitrogen being released into their blood.

  Another image showed the dark and silent figures of the Aboriginal people who gathered like shadows around the dunes and foreshores and out in their distant camps, where the gatherings of skin families and clans hunted and observed ceremonies as they had for millennia, among the red pindan and rock shelters, places where few Europeans ventured.

  Jacqui described how, after the stormy wet season, the international pearl buyers swept into Broome for the pearl shell harvest as well as for the sale of rare and precious pearls. She told her audience about the transport steamers that came to the Broome jetty, its piers stabbing far out into the bay, and how the visitors, hopeful newcomers, adventurers and families, rode the tiny train the length of the jetty as the bustling entrepreneurs and townsfolk gathered along the seafront to watch their arrival.

  Broome’s history was as vibrant and varied as the natural world around it, Jacqui explained, and the town grew and prospered as the market for pearl shell boomed. But as the popularity of plastic buttons increased, the demand for pearl shell diminished. Only the quest for the magnificent, matchless pearls within the unique oysters along the Kimberley coast continued to attract treasure hunters and adventurers, daredevils and risk-taking families, who ran empires worth millions of dollars.

  After the tragic bombing of Broome in World War Two, Jacqui went on, the town languished, but pearls from Broome were always in demand. Around the world, customised pieces by legendary jewellers were fashioned for the rich and famous, for royalty and rajahs, though few knew their source.

  And so, the township remained a dot on a vast red landscape, facing a peacock-blue ocean, closer to Asia than to the growing cities thousands of kilometres away on the eastern side of the country, which were separated from Broome by the great sprawling dead desert-heart of the island continent.

  A woman raised her hand. ‘I noticed that Broome seems to have a very distinctive architectural style. Is that preserved from the old days too?’

  ‘Indeed yes, and Broome has Lord Alistair McAlpine to thank for that. When he arrived from England in the late 1970s he found a struggling frontier town, but he fell in love with the place and was appalled that all the lovely old pearlers’ homes were being knocked down and replaced with suburban clinker-brick veneer. So he bought a few of them and convinced Broome that these old places were unique and worth saving. He founded the Broome Preservation Society, and went on to restore places like the old Sun Picture Theatre.’ Jacqui clicked through to find some pictures of the building to show her audience. ‘He built the Cable Beach Club and the Pearl Coast Zoological Gardens for endangered species. He even brought in boab trees and planted them in the town to replace the old boabs which had been cut down. Lord McAlpine was a patron of industries of all sorts in Broome, from local indigenous art to pearls, and a true visionary. He really restored Broome’s distinctive style. Who knows what else he might have done for the town if things had not gone awry?’

  ‘What happened?’ asked another guest.

  ‘It was all before my time, but apparently he had a lot of plans for the town, one of which was to move the airport out to Roebuck Plains and make it international, as the town location was too small – and still is. Unfortunately, family issues intervened and he had to return to England. He was devastated when he couldn’t come back, especially as his plans for the town and airport site never went ahead as he’d envisioned, so it was a great loss for the Broome Shire, as well.’

  Jacqui continued to talk about the town, trying to convey its captivating magic and history.

  ‘Pearls have always fascinated those who sought them and those who wear them. Some pieces of pearl jewellery that are thought of as family heirlooms should really be in museums. Personally, I think the world’s most astonishing piece of pearl jewellery is the Southern Cross Pearl.’

  ‘Never heard of it,’ muttered one of the guests.

  ‘Not many people have,’ admitted Jacqui. ‘But it has an intriguing history.’ She drew a breath before beginning the remarkable story. ‘In 1883, fifteen-year-old Tommy Clarke and his uncle, who was a pearling captain, were looking for pearl shells in the low tidal mudflats around Cossack, a port south of Broome which is now a ghost town. Anyway, they picked up three pearl shells, and then, the following day, they found two hundred more. The next day they were becalmed and had to wait for the wind, so young Tommy opened the first three pearl shells they’d found. He couldn’t believe it when in the third shell he found a pearl. And what a miracle of a pearl! Actually, it was several pearls fused together in the shape of a cross. When he lifted it out of the shell, it fell into three pieces. His uncle said that as the pearls were not a substantial size, they weren’t worth much. So, he sold them for ten quid and a bottle of rum to a fellow he knew, who in turn sold them to the Cossack publican, Frank Craig, for forty pounds. Craig, however, had a bit of foresight and imagination. He had a skilled pearl-skinner re-join the pieces, added a pearl to one of the sides and named it the Southern Cross. It changed hands several times after that, ending up in London at the Colonial and Indian Exhibition in 1886, and winning a medal at the Paris Exhibition three years later. After that, nothing was heard of it for years. When it again appeared, this time at the British Empire Exhibition at Wembley in 1924, its owner was now a timber merchant, Charles Peto-Bennett, and the value placed on the piece was twenty-four thousand pounds!’

  The audience gasped.

  ‘It seems that each time the Southern Cross changed owners, its value increased tenfold. Anyway, that was the last time the pearl was seen for the next seventy years, although it surfaced briefly in 1981 at Christie’s Auctions in London, but wasn’t sold, and so its whereabouts remained a complete mystery.’

  ‘So does anyone know what happened to it?’ asked a guest.

  ‘There were all kinds of rumours flying around as to who owned the Southern Cross, including that it might be the Pope. This claim was denied by the Vatican, which said the piece was definitely not in their collection. In the early 1990s the Western Australian government tried to find it because it thought it was a valuable part of Western Australian history, but with no success.

  ‘But in fact, we do now know what happened to the pearl, and the real story turns out to be less of a mystery. Charles Peto-Bennett had worked around the world in the timber industry, including in Western Australia, where he acquired the Southern Cross, and ended up back in London. After the stock market crash of 1929 he found the insurance on the pearl too expensive, so he just put it in his safe in his home in Chelsea. And there it stayed until he died in 1978. He bequeathed it to his two grandsons, who sent it to Christie’s simply to be valued.

  ‘Then, in 1998, one family member, Chris Peto-Bennett, was travelling from his home in Auckland to London via Perth. He visited a pearl shop and was told, very much to his surprise, the story of the missing Southern Cross Pearl.

  ‘After consulting the rest of his family, it was decided that the pearl cross should be lent to Western Australia on permanent loan. So, if you are ever
travelling through Perth, you can see what they still call a freak of nature at the Fremantle Maritime Museum,’ concluded Jacqui. ‘The mystery of Australia’s most famous pearl had been finally solved.’

  There was a smattering of applause and Jacqui heard several people suggest enthusiastically to each other that they would have to visit the Maritime Museum, just to see it.

  For her finale, Jacqui reached for a small box. As the audience leaned forward in anticipation, she opened it and held up a magnificent, flawless, perfectly round pearl, about ten millimetres in circumference, with the glowing lustre and colour that only comes from growing in the warm, pristine waters of the Kimberley.

  ‘This is what pearling is all about,’ she said dramatically. Her audience gasped.

  ‘This rare and valuable pearl,’ she explained, ‘is owned by my friend Lily Barton, who runs the Star Two pearl farm. Lily’s ancestor was Captain John Tyndall, one of Broome’s early pearling masters. The love story between him and a woman called Olivia Hennessy is a riveting one. The museum in Broome will tell you more about it, and everything you could ever want to know about the early days of the pearling industry. I think that the romance and adventures, the struggles and sacrifices that are part of the tapestry of the Kimberley, are better than any novelist or filmmaker could ever make up!’

  As soon as she finished her talk and the applause had died down, Jacqui’s audience was full of questions for her, such as why Broome did not produce black pearls like those found in the South Pacific and Asia, and why Broome pearls, marketed as South Sea pearls, were the most desirable in the world. Jacqui answered some of the questions, and directed others, such as how one best looked after pearls, to Patricia from the gift shop, who had uncovered trays of pearl jewellery and was now surrounded by interested guests. People huddled over the pieces, some set with Kimberley diamonds, including the rare pinks and yellows, as Patricia explained how the keshi, or baroque pearls, were a natural pearl, though jewellers valued the perfect rounds, like Lily’s pearl, more.

  *

  As people began to disperse to their cabins, the bar and the deck, some with newly purchased pearls and jewellery, Damien and his assistant Richie began packing up their camera equipment.

  ‘I hope you got what you wanted,’ said Jacqui, coming over to them.

  ‘You were great. We shot heaps. Great talk, you whetted their appetites nicely,’ said Damien. ‘And it will fit in well with old black-and-white archive vision of the early pearling days.’

  ‘That’s good. Patricia sold some nice pieces, too. Where are you off to tomorrow?’

  ‘The seaplane is coming in for us. We’re filming King Cascade Falls and some of the other sights. God knows there’s enough stunning places in the area. I think that the world is only just waking up to what’s out here.’

  ‘Are you based in Perth?’ asked Jacqui.

  ‘Yes, for the moment. I’m actually from Victoria. These promos are the bread-and-butter work I do. I’ve also done some small films and I used to make big-budget TV commercials and shoot documentaries for government agencies as well as a scientific foundation.’

  ‘Sounds intriguing.’

  ‘Say, do you mind if I have a close look at that Star Two pearl? Sounds like it’s got quite a history.’

  ‘It does,’ Jacqui replied, opening the box and offering the pearl to Damien, who examined it closely. ‘Maybe you should interview Lily, its owner. She’s charming and her story is incredible. She’s in her seventies now, but she’s still beautiful as well as being bright and articulate. She lives up north towards Cygnet Bay.’

  ‘I might follow that up. Thanks.’ Damien handed her back the pearl, then reached into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out his wallet. ‘Here’s my card. Call my mobile if you think of anything else that you think might be of interest to me. I’m open to other stories and people to film. Mind you, the scenery kind of says it all, doesn’t it? No place in the country is quite like up here.’

  ‘No, it’s not,’ Jacqui agreed with a smile. Then, after wishing Damien and Richie a good onward journey, she excused herself and hurried off to put the beautiful pearl in a safe place. While Jacqui was grateful to Lily for the loan of such a rare and valuable gem, being responsible for it, even for just a few days, made her extremely nervous and she wanted it locked up in the Chief Officer’s safe as soon as possible.

  *

  Broome’s airport simmered under the clear sky and bright mid-morning sun.

  Bobby Ching, dressed in khaki shorts and a matching shirt with his tour company’s logo on the pocket, leaned on the open door of his vehicle, watching the first arrivals saunter through the glass doors of the air-conditioned arrivals hall, out into a wall of heat. Reactions to this change in temperature varied from surprise and delight to groans and fanning hands among tourists, and from nonchalance to glad-to-be-back expressions from the locals.

  Bobby’s lean frame looked stripped of excess fat, though his olive skin gleamed with a slight sheen of moisture. He chewed on a toothpick with strong white teeth. Since he’d given up smoking ten years ago, he’d taken pride in his teeth. His hair was sleek, shiny dark, cut in a straight square fringe. He still liked it falling to his shoulders, although he tied it back in a neat ponytail while working. His friends teased him about reverting to the pigtail of his Chinese ancestors. His Aboriginal friends told him he had inherited skinny blackfella legs.

  ‘Makes me a genuine Broome boy then,’ Bobby boasted. He was proud of his mixed heritage. He was always cheerful, with a reputation for being good company and game for any adventure.

  He picked up the sign with Cameron North Enterprises written on it and strolled over to where passengers were waiting for their transport.

  A tall man in his forties, studious-looking, with smart glasses, a leather carry-on bag over his shoulder, nodded towards Bobby. Cameron North had even features; women probably thought him handsome. He was well dressed in a casual way. Bobby bet his leather bag had cost a bundle. He had an air of authority and was really sure of himself, Bobby decided.

  ‘You got more luggage, mate?’ Bobby reached for his bag, but the man shook his head.

  ‘I’m right, thanks. Where’s your car?’

  Leading the way, Bobby slipped behind the wheel of his sturdy four-wheel drive, which he’d nicknamed ‘the beast’ and referred to as his ‘flagship’ vehicle, even though it was the only one he owned so far, and turned to his passenger in the back seat.

  ‘So, you said in the message that you wanted to head up towards Cape Leveque tomorrow. Do you mind me asking where exactly on the cape? The resort? Or sightseeing? I’ll need to get a few supplies. How early do you want to set out? And where’re we off to now? Where’re you staying tonight?’

  His passenger gave a slight smile. ‘I’ll answer the last question first. Where do you suggest?’

  ‘For tonight? Depends on how much you want to pay. You want simple or fancy? Place with a restaurant, or not?’

  ‘Comfortable, not flashy. With a bar and food.’

  ‘Right. This your first time in Broome, Mr North? Sightseeing or business?’

  The man didn’t answer as he flicked through a little notebook before tucking it into his top shirt pocket.

  ‘Sorry. Bobby, isn’t it? Bobby Ching? How about you take me on a bit of a tour. Maybe I’ll head out to the Cable Beach place for lunch. I have to drop into the radio station later, but you could give me a quick tour around town to get my bearings first.’

  ‘Righto. You want to drop your bag? Freshen up? As you might’ve noticed, my air con is on the blink. I’ll get it done before we head out tomorrow morning.’

  Cameron North declined the offer. ‘Let’s just get straight to the tour, eh?’

  Bobby had his Town Tour down pat.

  He started at Streeters restored wooden jetty that dead-ended in the milky water of the m
angroves. ‘Hard to believe the luggers used to tie up along there, lying in the mud when the tide was out. And over there on that side used to be the old Japanese Club for the hard-hat divers . . . kings of the town, they were. Shame it all got pulled down. But then again, we don’t want big shops or anything modern and touristy that doesn’t fit in with the historical look of the town.’

  Further down Dampier Terrace, Bobby pointed at the low buildings.

  ‘Here’s all the pearl shops and souvenir places. Used to be the old pearl sheds along here. That place, “Pearl Luggers”, has done a good job with a restored lugger. They do talks and show some old movies and artefacts from the early days. Across the road, that’s the Roey, the Roebuck Pub. Used to be a wild place. Still a bit rough around the edges. But if you ever get a chance to hear the Pigram Brothers play there, don’t miss it. Those boys are music history in this town. Along here are a couple of very nice places selling good art and stuff. We’ll head down this way past the museum. Some good eateries here, too.’

  ‘Is there an art gallery? An outlet for local artists?’ asked Cameron.

  ‘You bet. You interested in buying something? Julia, who runs the gallery, is real knowledgeable and friendly. She goes out to the communities. Helps them with paint and canvas. East Kimberley artists are real good. You heard of Warmun? Turkey Creek is its whitefella name. Good artists from there. Heard of Rover Thomas? Mung Mung, old Queenie? Lots of new artists coming up now.’

  ‘Are they any good?’

  ‘Well, it’s all about what you like, isn’t it? These people, they all sit down and paint their country. Their stories. They’re keeping the tradition going, y’know?’

  ‘Write the names of some of them down for me. I’ll check them out.’

  ‘Better you talk to the girls running the gallery. They’re the experts.’