by Di Morrissey
While Shirley sat and held the stone tightly, her father continued to probe in the clay.
‘How long has this one been in the ground, Daddy?’
‘Millions of years. Ever since the dinosaurs.’
The two of them lost track of time as Albert exposed a channel across the mine face where, in a deeper pocket, nestled four more nobbies, which Shirley called ‘opal eggs’.
‘Are there any more, Daddy?’
‘Not in this little nest, sweet pea. But there could be a patch of opal in this area, if it’s good bearing dirt. But first we need to know just what we have in these little treasures. Don’t get too excited. They might not all have opal,’ he cautioned.
‘Can we go up?’ asked Shirley. ‘We can see better.’
‘Now, you know the rules. No jumping around, no squealing, and absolutely no telling. This is our secret. All right, let’s clean up and call it a day.’ Carefully he wrapped the nobbies in a rag and put them in his pocket. Together they packed the loose clay into the bucket, climbed the shaft and Albert hauled the bucket to the top, tipping the clay onto their growing heap. By now the sun was low on the horizon.
‘Are you still going to hunt something for dinner, Daddy?’
‘I don’t think so. We’ll just open a tin of soup, make a damper and put a couple of spuds in the fire. Sound all right to you?’
‘Yep. I could eat a horse,’ replied Shirley. Then she lowered her voice and whispered to her father, ‘I’m excited.’
After securing the sheet of iron across the entrance to the shaft, they casually sauntered back through the trees to the tents that made up the rough camp of the makeshift community. A couple of fires were burning. Some people moved about, others sat contemplatively in front of their flickering campfires. The smell of woodsmoke mingled with the scent of billy tea.
Albert exchanged a nod or a subdued, murmured greeting with some of the other miners. Most of the men were friendly enough but, while the claims were close together, in this camp it was every man for himself.
Albert, called the Professor by the locals, had chosen to sink his claim further away from the main camp. He’d first come out to the opal fields of Lightning Ridge as a young man with an interest in geology and palaeontology not long after the Great War had ended, and had been intrigued by the landscape, the history and the wondrous black opal. He was bitten by the opal bug and had registered a claim, which he visited as often as he could in the school holidays. At first his wife had come with him, but she had quickly lost interest in the harshness of the opal fields and had stopped coming altogether as soon as they started a family. It was clear to Albert now that his six-year-old daughter regarded her first visit to the opal fields as a big adventure.
As they neared their small tent, Albert said, ‘Let’s get the fire going, Shirley. Start dinner and get settled. You know the drill.’
Shirley was about to open her mouth to ask about the rocks nestled in her father’s deep pocket in his baggy work pants, but Albert put his finger to his lips, so she nodded and, adopting her father’s weary and casual demeanour, set about her chores.
After their dinner had been eaten from enamel plates by the fire and they’d cleaned up, her father sat down to enjoy a smoke by the dying embers. In the gathering darkness other figures could be seen moving about as men settled into the swags under their bough-and-canvas shelters and, at the bottom of the rise, a lantern shone from the primitive shack where Mr and Mrs MacKenzie lived. Even though she was getting tired, Shirley was finding it hard to control her impatience to discuss the excitement of the day. Albert tapped out his pipe on his boot, stowed his leather tobacco pouch back into his pocket and gave her a slight nod. They retreated into their small tent. It held two narrow camp stretchers, a tin trunk that they used for storage and a table where their kerosene lantern stood. Her father lit its wick and adjusted the flame inside the smoky chimney.
‘Close the flap of the tent, sweet pea,’ he said.
Sitting side by side, Albert spread the opal nobbies onto a rough army blanket. One by one he washed the stones in their old billy can and then carefully snipped and rubbed back a small portion of each. Together they slowly turned them over, examining them in the pale yellow light of the lamp.
Neither spoke, for Albert had again cautioned Shirley, but they were both mesmerised by the extraordinary brilliance of the stones that glittered with blazing red, gold and green fire.
‘It’s like they have a light inside them,’ whispered Shirley.
‘They’re extremely good opal,’ agreed her father quietly. ‘Very good. We’ll have our work cut out for us now. A lot of digging to do before we go back to school.’
‘Do we have to go back to school? Can’t we stay here? If we find lots more opal, we’ll be rich and then you won’t have to work anymore.’
‘Your mother wouldn’t agree to that and neither do I! Everyone has to go to school. It’s how the world runs. If you don’t get an education and look after yourself and your family, you can’t expect everyone else to help you out. Now, let’s get to bed. We have to start digging above that ledge tomorrow.’
‘I’ll say a special thank you in my prayers tonight,’ said Shirley.
‘That’s a good girl. And don’t forget your mother and little brother. Sleep tight.’
Anyone watching from across the field might have observed the silhouette of a man hunched over in the lamplight, head bowed, seemingly studying what he held in his hands, turning something over and over.
Several days later, they went into town in Albert’s old truck to top up their supplies. The Ridge seemed as busy as it had been on their earlier visit. Men standing outside the Imperial Hotel watched these arrivals from the diggings.
Mrs Campbell at the small general store greeted Shirley and her father warmly. ‘How’re you two doing? Still enjoying yourselves, eh? Not too bored, love?’
‘Not at all, thank you,’ said Shirley. ‘I help my father.’
‘She’s a hard worker. Good company, too,’ said Albert.
‘So you don’t get lonely. Long days working down a shaft with little to show for it, eh?’
‘My father tells me stories and teaches me things,’ said Shirley rather primly in an effort to be polite but not divulge any information.
‘Well, bless you. Help yourself to a couple of lollies from the big jar on the counter. And what do you need, Mr Mason?’
After Albert had loaded their flour, dried milk, sugar and potatoes into the truck, he and Shirley wandered a little way along the dusty street of ramshackle buildings made of rough corrugated iron and wood, that made up Lightning Ridge. A man, pushing a wheelbarrow with his possessions tied up in a sugar bag and a pickaxe and tools lying on top of it, trudged past them.
Past the end of Morilla Street, Albert caught sight of his old friend Ahmed with two of his camels.
‘Come and meet a special friend of mine,’ he said to his daughter.
Albert had first met Ahmed years before when the Afghan cameleer had made one of his infrequent visits to the Ridge, using his camels to transport goods to the scattered mining districts during the dry season.
‘Hello, Ahmed,’ called Albert. ‘How are Afra and Malika?’ He patted one of the camels. ‘This is my daughter, Shirley.’
Ahmed’s leathery face broke into a large smile. ‘Missy, how you be? We are good, good. And you, sir, how are you?’
‘Very well, thank you. Where have you been? What have you seen?’ said Albert with a smile. It was always their greeting.
‘I have seen many moons over the desert. There is a promising new field in Queensland. Only a few men, but it is far from water.’
‘Are there opals out there?’
‘Yes, but it is not a place for you and your fine daughter. How goes your luck?’
‘We like Lightning Ridge, don’t we, Shirley, but maybe we might move further away one day. Perhaps Opal Lake. I hear that there’s been some good finds there.’
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p; ‘It is even more remote than White Cliffs. A very poetic place. Perhaps that would be beneficial. But are you planning to return to the city and to work? Especially if there are troubled times ahead in the world.’
‘Yes, I have to get back to my school and to the rest of my family. This is just a short holiday for Shirley and me, but you are right about the troubles. I hope they won’t affect us in Australia.’
‘They are a long way from here. Perhaps there will be a war in Europe. Let us pray that is not so. Now, I must go fetch the water cans we are carrying to the dusty opal men.’
‘What happened to your other camels?’ asked Albert, remembering that previously Ahmed had had six or eight camels linked together by their mulgawood nose pegs.
‘Things are changing. The days of cameleers are fading, like my eyes.’ The Afghan smiled. ‘So I released my old friends into the wild and they will make their own way in the desert.’
‘What will happen to you?’ asked Albert, suddenly seeing a bleak future for the old man frequently shunned by people in the community.
Ahmed shrugged. ‘Only Allah knows. I have no means to return to my country.’
‘Ahmed, if you found an opal you could go home,’ said Shirley, thinking that if they found more opals she could give one to Ahmed.
‘Thank you, little missy, for your generous thoughts, but I have come to love this desert where the sky and the billabong are my mosque. This is my land, now,’ he said. ‘Ensha Allah, salam aleikom.’ He inclined his head and, tucking the end of his ragged turban under his chin, he smiled at Shirley and Albert. Then, clicking his tongue, he and his camels walked away.
The two worked quietly but steadily for the next few days, carefully digging through the layer where they’d found the nobbies. Shirley still cheerfully examined the tailings that were tipped from the bucket to the side of the windlass. Albert helped her look, making sure that they didn’t miss a thing. They had a growing collection of potch with good colour, which they put to one side. Albert knew that this could indicate they were getting close to gem opal, but there was no guarantee. When they were not working on the mullock heap, it was always covered with a piece of tarpaulin, in case it attracted unwanted attention.
Sitting by their campfire one evening, Albert said quietly, ‘School holidays are nearly over and we’ll have to make tracks back home. No more opal, but we’ve done well enough. I’ll take the opal nobbies to a man I know in Sydney. We can be pleased with what we have. You’ve been a splendid assistant miner.’
‘I think tomorrow is our lucky day,’ said Shirley firmly and her father smiled as he puffed on his pipe.
‘Well, keep that to yourself. Here comes a fellow from down the hill.’
Albert had heard that this man had been around the opal fields for several years, having first had a strike in South Australia at Coober Pedy before moving on to White Cliffs, then Opal Lake and now Lightning Ridge. He was holding an enamel mug and greeted them cheerily.
‘Hello, cobbers. I’m down on me rations and in need of a bit of sweeten’ up. Would you have a bit of sugar to spare for me tea?’
‘I expect I can find some,’ said Albert. ‘Shirley take Mr Gordon’s cup and fill it up from the bag inside.’
‘I very much appreciate it. Many thanks. A man is starved for those special things that sweeten the palate after a simple supper.’
‘Well, sultana pudding in the camp oven, or damper and golden syrup is as fine a dessert as a man could wish for out here,’ said Albert.
The man crouched, drew out his ’baccy tin and took out the makings of a roll-your-own. ‘Smoke?’
‘Thank you, no. I have my pipe,’ said Albert affably.
Gordon lit up as Albert puffed on his pipe. ‘The best time of day, no matter what trouble and toil we’ve had.’
‘Indeed,’ agreed Albert.
They smoked for a few more moments, until Shirley ducked out of the tent and handed the man his cup filled with sugar.
‘Many thanks. I shall return the favour.’
Albert drew on his pipe, slowly exhaling a thin blue plume of smoke into the crisp night air. ‘That’s not necessary. It has been our pleasure.’
‘Weather’s cooling down. The winter will be upon us before we know it,’ said the miner.
Despite the casual exchange of trivialities, Albert knew that Gordon’s eyes were darting about their camp, taking in details, looking for any clue that might suggest success. But there was no untoward sign of serious activity.
‘So, lass, you enjoy it out here? Bit of a lonely time for a little girl like yourself,’ Gordon continued.
‘I like it,’ said Shirley. ‘I like looking at the stars, and being here with my father.’
‘Well, that’d be right. He’s a smart man. The Professor, that’s what they call him.’
‘I’m sure your wealth of local knowledge is equal to mine,’ said Albert. ‘You’ve been around the diggings for quite a while, I understand.’
‘Have you found lots of opals?’ asked Shirley suddenly. If he was an old opal miner, he was sure to be rich.
Gordon straightened up. He couldn’t resist a small boast. ‘In my time, lass. Yes, I’ve had a find or two.’ But he quickly added, ‘It’s hard out here when you’re stuck in shincracker and the bloke beside you is knee deep in black opal.’
‘Luck of the draw, eh?’ commented Albert. ‘I’m afraid we’ll be heading east soon. School for both of us.’
‘It’s been a lovely holiday,’ sighed Shirley.
The man opposite nodded. ‘Not for the likes of some of us. No job waiting and an uncertain future. Well, I thank you for the sugar. I’ll repay it in due course.’
‘As I said before, don’t bother,’ said Albert. ‘We have enough to see us through.’
Gordon finished his smoke and threw the end into the campfire. ‘Well, I’ll be off. Good luck to you.’
‘And to you, Mr Gordon,’ replied Albert. He watched the man wander back towards the other tents with his mug of sugar.
‘I don’t like him,’ said Shirley.
‘I should say that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, or a man for being down on his luck,’ said Albert. ‘But, my girl, I have to agree with you. As your mother would say, he’s got shifty eyes.’
Shirley lowered her voice. ‘Do you think he knows what we found?’
Albert shook his head. ‘No, he was just nosing around. Anyway, we’ll be gone in a couple of days. But you were a good girl not to say anything. Best we keep our finds a secret.’
At mid morning the following day, Albert called Shirley to come down the shaft. There was something in the tone of her father’s voice that made her hurry and she slid down the ladder, her feet barely touching the rungs. She stumbled towards the candlelight which was shining against the rock face at the end of the drive.
‘What is it, Daddy?’
‘There, look there. What do you see?’
Shirley squinted, her eyes adjusting from the bright sunlight outside. Then, in the wavering, pale candle beam, she caught the flash of colour. It was only a few inches wide, but it was the length of her hair ribbon, a shimmering, sparkling blue-green strip of opal. ‘Ooh, how pretty. How do you get it out, Daddy?’
‘It’s a seam. I have no idea how much is there. We’ll just have to follow it carefully. Can you hold the light for me?’
Time stopped for the father and daughter as Albert used the small gouging stick to gently chip along the dazzling rainbow of solid opal. Chunks came away, embedded in the flow of clay and they carefully lowered the pieces into the worn leather bucket.
‘We’ll have to put the dirt at the far end of the tunnel in case there’s opal in it. We don’t want anyone scratching through it while our back is turned, do we?’ said Albert.
‘I’ll use the shovel, Daddy.’
‘I think you might be better with the trowel. Don’t hurt yourself. I’ll take a rest for a minute and then I’ll give you a hand.’ Albert was breath
less from exertion and excitement.
But a sudden cry and squeal from Shirley had him dashing to the recess at the end of the shaft.
‘Shirley, what is it?’
The little girl was crying and Albert grabbed the candle and lifted it high to see what had happened. Shirley was pressed against the wall of the mine, cradling her ankle. She pointed to a ledge a few inches above the ground.
Albert’s heart constricted when he saw the shape of a dark snake, its head lifted in anger.
‘Dear God! Did it bite you? Let me see.’
‘Daddy, kill it!’
Albert picked up the shovel and lunged towards the snake, severing its head from its body.
‘Did it bite you?’
‘I think so.’
‘Let me see.’ He pulled the kerchief from his neck and swiftly bound it above the red mark on her leg. ‘Sit still. Take deep breaths. It will be all right.’ He spoke as calmly as he could. Shirley tried to stop shaking and take breaths as her father directed, but they came out in short, strangled gasps. Albert pulled his shirt off, ripped off a sleeve and tied a tourniquet tightly at the top of her leg. Shirley cried out in pain.
‘Shirley, you’ll be right. I know that the tourniquet hurts, but it’s meant to. It’s so the venom doesn’t spread. I’ll get you to the nurse as soon as I can. It won’t take long. Just keep as still and quiet as you can. I’m going to pop you in the bucket and wind you up to the top.’ Gently he lifted her and carried her back to the bottom of the shaft, tipped the dirt from the bucket and eased his daughter into it, folding her legs to one side. Then he scrambled to the top of the ladder and began winching up the bucket as swiftly as he could, praying that his daughter would be all right. He carried her over to the tent and gently laid her on the camp stretcher.
‘Sweetie, I’m going to have to get the venom out of your leg and it’s going to hurt you, but as soon as I’ve done that, I’ll drive you into Lightning Ridge.’
Albert took out the sharp kitchen knife from the storage box. He lit one of the spare candles and held the blade of the knife over its flame. When he thought that it had been there long enough, he took it out and held on to Shirley’s ankle.