by Tony Parsons
‘Some of you probably think that I’ve got a colossal hide to come here and ask you to listen to my proposals. I’d have been reluctant to do so except that Mr Blake has assured me that Kanimbla has often taken a leading role where matters affecting its neighbours and the citizens of Murrawee —’
‘I’ve got to take issue with you on that.’ Blue Delaney was on his feet again. ‘At one time, Kanimbla did do a lot for Murrawee, but that was in the old days. Your uncle Jack wasn’t much of a help. He spent as much time away as at Kanimbla. He never really got to know us at all,’ Blue said in his usual blunt fashion.
‘Yes, I understand that,’ said Ian, ‘and I’m sorry it has been that way. But my attitude is quite different from Jack Richardson’s. I’d like to make up for recent years, and I hope Kanimbla can become a community leader again.’
Looking on, Fiona was amazed that a young man not much older than she was could command an audience so calmly and effectively. She’d enjoyed watching the debating during her school years, although she’d never been confident enough to try it herself, and she had no doubt that Ian would be a brilliant debater. No matter what argument anyone threw at him, he seemed to have a logical response.
‘What concerns me, and I’m sure it concerns all of you,’ Ian continued, ‘is whether Murrawee will survive, or whether it will, eventually, cease to exist as a viable township. Mrs Donovan tells me that there used to be both a butcher and a baker here, as well as a barber and some other small businesses. Now you all have to drive a fair distance for these services. And if we don’t do anything soon, there’s a good chance that a few years down the track the few surviving businesses will close too. I, for one, don’t want that to happen. I realise that Murrawee hasn’t been the same since the rail service was discontinued, but I refuse to believe that we can’t do something to get things happening here again. I reckon that if we can put in place some schemes that will help us to capture some of the tourist trade that currently passes us by, we’ll be well on the way to ensuring Murrawee’s future.’ Ian paused as murmuring broke out around the hall.
‘But what have we got to offer tourists?’ someone called from the back.
‘Nothing!’ said another voice. ‘Not a damned thing.’
‘Do we even want tourists here?’ Blue threw in. ‘Murrawee wouldn’t be the same with rubbernecks all over the place. That’s always supposing there’s anything worthwhile for them to gawp at, which there isn’t.’
‘The question we should be asking is whether we want Murrawee to survive,’ said Ian. ‘Without tourists, I believe it will become a ghost town in just a few years. We’ve already had this audience’s collective opinion; half of you clearly want to do something to develop the township.’
‘You’d have to be a magician to improve Murrawee,’ Blue muttered and someone else laughed.
Ian shook his head. ‘Not at all. You’ve got one of the finest stretches of river country in all Queensland on your doorstep. I’m assured that some people come back here every year to camp and fish – and that’s with no conveniences available to them. Using this stretch of river as our launching pad, I believe we can create a set of attractions that will entice plenty of visitors to Murrawee.’
Fiona looked at the workworn faces around her and felt suddenly worried that apathy might get the better of her community. Determined to show her support for Ian, she stood up, glancing at Blue before addressing the hall. ‘Actually, the river is not all we have to offer. Did you know that in the thirty-five-acre paddock across the railway line, adjoining the river, there’s a hot-water bore that’s been sealed? Ian’s had the water analysed and it’s got good enough things in it – minerals and the like – for us to promote its health-giving qualities. We could build two swimming pools there, one hot and one cold.’
Ian smiled at Fiona, who sat down quickly, a little embarrassed at her outburst. He scanned the faces in the hall. It seemed that everyone had become very quiet. Clearly, they were waiting for further details.
‘As far as funding goes,’ Ian continued, ‘there’s government money available and other sources too. This project would certainly require some contributions from us, mainly in the way of skills and manpower, but I believe it’s quite feasible. If we decide to go ahead, I’ll propose that we erect an honour board listing the names of every person and company involved in the construction of the pools in whatever capacity,’ Ian said.
‘Supposing that we could install these pools, they aren’t going to be enough to bring tourists out of their way,’ said a male voice from the back.
‘No, the bigger towns have swimming pools, and there’s the Stockman’s Hall of Fame at Longreach, which we could never match,’ said another voice.
‘You’re right,’ Ian agreed. ‘We’d need more than the pools. If we had a motel reasonably close to the pools, people might be tempted to stick around for a day or two and, hopefully, spend some money in Murrawee. The motel wouldn’t need to be anything extravagant – maybe eight or ten units to begin with, and a kitchen. I’m not aiming to take business away from the pub, but the fact is that many people now prefer to stay in motels. And if we can attract tourists, the pub will get more business, not less.’
Ian heard the first whispers of agreement.
‘I reckon that what we need initially is a caravan park. As you all know, a lot of caravaners use the road through the township, but they don’t stop on two accounts: there’s nowhere with facilities where they can stay, and there’s nothing for them to see. The paddock beside the river is a lovely spot, ideal for caravans. So, in the first instance, I propose that we fence off an area for a caravan park and maybe start the ball rolling by building an amenities block and buying a couple of on-site vans. We’d just need to put up signs on the road so that people would know the place is here.’
‘I’ve often thought of taking a caravan down there myself, doing a spot of fishing … ’ commented Sean Driscoll, who owned a place beyond Nelanji and was something of the town wag.
‘Good on you, Sean!’ someone called.
‘But we still don’t have a major attraction,’ said Larry Phillips from the pub. He hadn’t raised any objection to Ian’s suggestion for a motel because he doubted that it would ever be built. And even if it was, he reckoned it wouldn’t affect his business because very few people ever stayed at the pub unless – and this was rare – there was something on, like the gymkhana. And in this case, he never had enough rooms.
Ian took a deep breath. Although his next idea was the one that excited him the most, he was a little nervous about suggesting it. But he also realised that this was the ideal opportunity to broach the subject, so he focused on the audience in the hall and ploughed on.
‘I think we should look into the possibility of establishing an aviary for native birds. This country boasts a wonderful array of parrots and other birds and if people had the chance to see them in natural-looking surroundings – trees, rocks, pools with running water, that sort of thing – I think they’d be very tempted to stop here. Besides which, we have a native bird expert – an amateur ornithologist – in our midst, and we could make use of his expertise in this area,’ Ian said.
‘Who is he?’ was the call, though Ian knew that at least some of those present knew of Leigh’s interest in birds.
‘Leigh Metcalfe. He looks after our Top River country,’ Ian replied.
‘You mean the writer bloke? I’d heard he was interested in birds all right!’ someone called from the back. There was a quick burst of laughter.
Ian ignored the comment, ‘Leigh Metcalfe can identify any bird in Queensland, but he’s especially knowledgeable about Australian parrots. Of course, the things I’m proposing couldn’t all be done at once, but if we drew up a schedule and got ourselves organised, we could achieve a lot in the next eighteen months or so – especially if some of us are willing to commit some time and other resources,’ Ian said. He sensed the atmosphere in the hall beginning to warm, and he felt a little mor
e confident as he broached his final proposal for the evening.
‘Lastly, if you’ll bear with me, I’d like to suggest that we stage an annual sheepdog trial. Ian smiled at Fiona. ‘This was really Fiona McDonald’s idea, and it’s a brilliant one.’
Fiona smiled back, pleased that Ian was publicly recognising her input.
‘We’ve got an oval and there’s adjoining country that could be used. The trial would carry good prizes – Kanimbla will contribute a worthwhile amount. A lot of local people have the skills necessary to organise an event like this.’ Once again, Ian sought out Fiona in the centre of the hall and gave her an encouraging smile. She felt herself blushing in the dim light and hoped no one noticed. ‘It would be a fairly big undertaking, but it would put Murrawee in the spotlight, and I think it would give us something to look forward to each year, as a community.’
The hall broke into murmurs again, and the noise gradually rose as people got into discussion with their neighbours.
‘I’d like to break now so that you can discuss these proposals amongst yourselves,’ said Ian, over the noise. ‘And I’m dying for a cuppa! Perhaps we could reconvene briefly after supper. A big thankyou to Mrs Donovan and her hall committee for supplying us with drinks and supper tonight,’ Ian concluded.
Blue, however, wasn’t finished. ‘I reckon we’ve heard some pretty surprising suggestions from you tonight, Ian,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to say I’m against them, but what I’d like to know is how much Kanimbla is really prepared to support them.’
Ian nodded. ‘The thirty-five acres beside the river where the hot bore is situated – do you agree that it’s a good site?’ Ian asked Blue.
‘Yeah. It’s not bad,’ Blue admitted.
‘I’ve bought it.’ Ian paused to let the exclamations die down. ‘And if you agree to form a township development association and set it up legally, I’ll donate those thirty-five acres to Murrawee in perpetuity. I’ll also pay for a fence for a caravan park and install a couple of on-site vans to kick off the program. How does that sound?’ Ian asked.
‘It sounds pretty bloody good to me,’ Sean Driscoll said, provoking much laughter, which soon subsided into clapping. Ian stepped down from the platform with relief before moving into the hall.
Despite the heat and the insects, supper went on for some time, and got noisier and noisier. Ian found himself bailed up by Frank Morton, the local builder, and Joe Barker, one of the shrewdest graziers in the area.
‘Building a motel seems a very ambitious undertaking,’ Joe said. ‘Would it pay?’
Joe was supposed to have the first dollar he ever made and it was rumoured that he could come up with a million dollars overnight.
‘It’s been done before, Mr Barker. Farmers have put up the money to build motels. And they’ve done all right, too. I’m not so much concerned with making a small motel pay as using it to draw people to Murrawee so that the local services get some extra business. I’d be happy for it to break even,’ Ian said to Joe. ‘We’d pitch the price a bit lower than at the bigger towns – that ought to entice a few. They’d pay to use the pools and to look at the birds.’
‘It all sounds fine, but do you think we could pull it off?’ Joe asked dubiously. ‘It sounds like a big project for a township on its last legs.’
‘I don’t see why not,’ replied Ian. ‘New developments are occurring everywhere else. Why not in Murrawee?’
‘An eight- or ten-unit motel with a kitchen wouldn’t cost a lot, it’s true, especially if we used some voluntary labour …’ Frank began.
‘I wonder, Mr Morton, would you be able to work out some costs for us?’ asked Ian, keen to get the builder on-side. ‘I’ve had one estimate and I’d be interested to see how yours compares,’ Ian said. He was sure Frank wouldn’t be able to pass up the chance of some business.
‘All right. My quotes are pretty competitive – I reckon you’ll be surprised. If you’re going for a caravan park, you’d need a toilet block and it might be possible to link up that septic system with what you’d need at the motel, to save on costs,’ Frank said, already on the case.
‘You’re right,’ Ian agreed. ‘Cost savings like this would make all the difference.’
‘Do you think it’s a goer, Frank?’ Joe asked, surprised by Morton’s sudden enthusiasm.
‘There’s heaps of tourists, local and international, travelling these days and they’re all looking for the real Australia, whatever that is,’ said Frank. ‘A real Australian township with genuine attractions at realistic as opposed to luxury prices … well, it could be a goer, Joe. It depends a fair bit on how well it’s presented and that will depend on how well people get behind the project.’
‘Hmm. Well, Ian’s right about the site. That’s a great stretch of water. The trouble was that we all got too used to it. It took an outsider to see its possibilities,’ Joe said. He looked thoughtful as he walked back to his seat.
As well as being a careful man where money was concerned, Joe Barker was also a passionate Queenslander. Initially, he’d thought that Ian’s suggestions were pie-in-the-sky stuff generated by a young English lad who hadn’t been in the country long enough to know its real nature. Now, he wasn’t so sure. He imagined what it might be like to see a few more businesses in the township again, like in the old days. He realised that the only way they could achieve that was by attracting more visitors.
After about three-quarters of an hour of solid and noisy discussion, Ian and Leo went back to their table and the audience took their seats. Helen Donovan moved to the front of the hall and tapped a glass to get everyone’s attention. She wasn’t usually one for making speeches, but neither was she backward in speaking her mind, and she felt she couldn’t leave without saying something tonight.
‘Ah, I’d like to say a few words. I can see that Mr … um … Ian has put a lot of time and thought into what he’s suggesting for our town. And personally, I think his ideas are very exciting. These are things that we could realistically do, if we pulled together. Murrawee is our town and Ray and me don’t want it to die. We’ll do anything we can to make it a better place. The shame is, we should have done something before now. Anyway, I reckon Ian should be given a vote of thanks for what he’s proposed … and for not growing cotton,’ she said.
There was a moment of silence, before a burst of applause.
Ian had seen Lachie and Fiona McDonald with their heads together, so he wasn’t altogether surprised when the tall man stood up. ‘I’d like to endorse Helen’s remarks, Mr Chairman. Those of us who live here surely have a vested interest in trying to maintain Murrawee as a viable township. Fiona and I would be happy to serve on the kind of development association Ian has suggested. His ideas make a lot of sense. Fiona and I especially like the idea of the aviary. It could generate a lot of interest.’
‘Mr Chairman,’ Lachie continued, ‘you said this wasn’t a formal meeting, but I’d like to suggest that we take Ian’s proposals a step further by asking all those prepared to serve on a development association to write their names down. If we get enough names, we can get the ball rolling.’
‘Sounds fine to me,’ said Leo.
‘Thank you Mr McDonald,’ replied Ian. ‘Before you put pen to paper, I just want to make it clear that I’m not trying to railroad any of you with these proposals. This only goes ahead with your support. If you’re not with me we may as well call the whole business off. If you are, let’s work together to make a town you can be proud of. Thank you.’
Ian sat down to hearty applause.
Leo looked at Ian and grinned. ‘Looks like you might have started something,’ he said.
‘Finishing it is what really matters,’ Ian replied.
Nelanji homestead was large and comfortable – nowhere near as grand as Kanimbla, but up there with the best of the homesteads in western Queensland. Fiona’s mother had created a beautiful garden, a living testament to her dedication and creativity. The homestead didn’t have Kanimbla’s natu
ral advantages of a tranquil river setting with towering red gums, and had had to be developed from flat scrubby plain. It took a good deal of trial and error to find trees and shrubs that could stand up to the harsh conditions. Most of the homestead block was encircled by a shelter break of tough cadagi (sometimes called the widow-maker because of its propensity to drop branches), silky oaks, golden rain trees, tipuana (often referred to as racehorse trees because they grow so fast, and considered weeds by the authorities), and white cedars. There was an inner line of grevilleas, hakeas and murrayas and adjoining the lawn there were beds of pelargonium, lavender, roses and blue-lowered plumbago. The garden’s crowning glory was a towering purple bougainvillea, interlaced with mauve wisteria that covered a long-dead tree. The back portion of the block was devoted to a couple of tidy beds of spinach and other vegetables. There was no great stretch of lawn because, as Fiona would later explain to Ian, it took too much dam water to keep a lawn green (bore water was too hard) and it made more sense to keep the dam water for the rest of the garden.
Since offering to help organise Murrawee’s first sheepdog trial, she had been making some calls, and was keen to discuss some of the details with Ian, so had invited him for a meal.
Fiona was shifting a spray when Ian arrived and gave him a dazzling smile when he complimented her on the garden.
‘It was all Mum’s doing really. We’ve just kept it going. Dad says that he still feels close to Mum when he’s out here. And he does his share. He brings the sheep manure and if we pass a nursery he’s happy to bring home anything I need. We really appreciate Mum’s foresight and hard work when the westerly winds blow like mad. Of course it hasn’t got Kanimbla’s grand setting,’ Fiona said.
‘It’s a beautiful garden, Fiona,’ Ian said warmly. And he thought how happy she looked in it. As she walked towards him, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, he noticed a little smear of dirt on her cheek and wanted to reach out and wipe it away. The longer he knew her, the more beautiful she seemed to become. He looked away, anxious not to betray his feelings. He wasn’t sure if he would stay on at Kanimbla, and he was so busy – there didn’t seem to be time for anything but work or study. He didn’t want to hurt Fiona. It would be better for everyone if they were simply good friends.