A Ghost Story

This story was read by firelight on a dark and stormy night at our house on Victoria Parade. We had a Show and Tell evening and this is what I shared:

This ghost story is a tale of tragical love and, like all good ghost stories, untimely death.  The setting was the town Devonport, Tasmania, the former then was named Formby. Ship building was conducted on the shores of the Mersey River in the late 1800’s. 

                                                      The launch of the Lizzie Taylor, East Devonport Inlet 1891.Shifting Sands, Faye Gardam

One day a shipbuilder’s son fell in love with a beautiful girl. Their eyes met at the Regatta in 1898. 

                                        Mersey Regatta. Shifting Sands, Faye Gardam

She was wearing a gown of Chantilly lace, she had a pretty face and a ponytail hanging down and a blood red rose with a blue ribbon pinned to her gown. They spent the afternoon together and vowed their undying love that night as a pale moon rose over the water and the celebratory fireworks exploded over their heads. She gave him the rose as they parted.

But alas, their love was ill-fated from the start. The young lass’ name was Jessie Drake and she came from the wrong side of the river. She was from Torquay (East Devonport) and the young man was from Formby (West Devonport) and back then a girl from the Downs of Pardoe would not be at all suitable match for a man of Victoria Parade . Jessie Drake was 16, only 16, oh but he loved her so and from then on the lad would row his little boat  over the river when he could, to spend precious moments together.

                                                                  Formby looking east to Torquay, Shifting Sands, Faye Gardam

When the lad’s father heard of these dalliances he was not happy. One evening after a meeting of the town’s founding fathers, he told of his serious concerns to Mr Oldaker. Mr McFie and Mr Fenton were listening on.

“Don’t worry old chap” interjected Mr Gunn, “leave it to me, I shall attend to the matter”

Mr Gunn was hoping for a marital pairing of his daughter with the shipbuilder’s son, but as she was a chunky, robust girl with several facial moles, this was never going to happen….as the shipbuilder’s son was gushingly gorgeous and psychological studies have proven overwhelmingly that similarly rated hotness always marries hotness of equal rating.

                                             Pintrest: Hot Vintage Men. The Handsome Victorian Gent

The next day Mr Gunn “announced”  the engagement of his daughter to the shipbuilder’s son within earshot of Mr Drake, Jessie’s father. Thinking nothing of it, Mr Drake retold the local news at his family dinner table that evening. Jessie went pale. Tears welled up and she felt ill, so excused herself quickly from the table.

Jessie went to bed and cried all night.

Before dawn she, beside herself with grief, ran down to the river bank. She called her sweetheart’s name, knowing he slept in the attic bedroom at the front of the house with the window open. The water was wide and she couldn’t cross o’er, if only he would come with his boat. But the lad slept soundly, hearing her voice weave its way into his dreams but not awakening. The tide was low and the pale moon illuminated a pathway across the river, but alas, as the sea mists rolled in, that pathway lured Jessie into its depths.

The next day news of Jessie’s death spread through the town. When the young man heard, grief stricken he went to the water’s edge, there at his feet he found a blood red rose and a blue ribbon.

The lad never recovered from losing Jessie, and certainly never married Mr. Gunn’s daughter. He put all his efforts into building a beautiful timber boat, which he named the Jessie Drake. He sailed it to Melbourne, where he bought one hundred blood-red rose bushes. That night he sailed home, and the weather was terrible. He was warned not to sail. He fought all night with the wild Bass Strait tempests, but finally when the wind was a torrent of darkness and the pale moon was a ghostly galleon, within knots of Port Frederick all was lost and the Jessie Drake went down.

The next morning dozens of blood red roses bushes were scattered on the shore.

And over the years, in the early hours of the morning when the sea mist rolls in and a pale moon shines a pathway over the waters, many have told of a ghostly ship sailing into Port Frederick with the ghost of a young man aboard calling his lost lover’s name, and, many an East Devonport residence has attested to hearing, as the fog thickens, the voice of a girl calling a name the same as was the young ship builder’s sons.

So as you walk through the streets of old Formby Town, if you see any blood red roses growing on old gnarled bushes, chances are they are from the young man’s cargo, as the locals salvaged them, and, as they were bare rooted and it was late August, they survived, because as any keen gardener knows its dashed near impossible to kill a rose, and they planted them in their gardens, and some still flower today.

Disclaimer:

                                                           Pintrest: Group portrait of Victorian gentlemen

 This story and characters are fictitious. Certain long-standing institutions, agencies, and public offices are mentioned, but the characters involved are wholly imaginary.

The Nook

The Nook


As a recent UTas assessment I had to write a 750 word narrative. This is a small window into the lives of my gggrandparents Sandy and Christina Hamilton, of The Nook, Tasmania.

“Church of England….Brethren…. Congregational,” Sandy Hamilton bellowed out in his thick Scottish brogue. As he listed the denominations, he noted the show of hands from the townsfolk who were gathered together on the site of their new church building.

“Wesleyan Methodist it is then,” he announced, as that was the denomination most represented by the neighbours who were gathered. That was to be their new church denomination.

 Sandy and his wife Christina were Scots Presbyterian.

They, like most of the districts pioneers, had arrived in Van Diemen’s Land nearly thirty years previously in the 1850’s, and had been hand-picked by ministers as being upstanding and strong Christian folk suitable to populate the far-flung colony. Many of them had left the British Isles because of famines, crofting clearances or perhaps just a wish for adventure.

Sandy and Christina had cleared the dense forest of their land, built a homestead and established a fine farm in the township of The Nook. Sandy must have foreseen the need for their own local church as he had donated the land and had helped the overseeing of the administration of the site.

                                                 Nook Church

The Nook was a pretty little corner of the Kentish district, flanked by a range of hills on one side and the Don River on the other. The roads in and out of the town were precarious and sometimes unpassable. The track to Latrobe passed through impenetrable forest. The roads were a constant topic of conversation and planning for Sandy and the other men on the Roads Trust Board. When Sandy and Christina first arrived at Nook with all their wordly possessions on a bullock dray, it was found that one child was missing! Upon backtracking, they found the lad waiting on the side of the track, he had no option, the bush was too dense to allow any alternatives.....or so the family story goes.

While access may have at times been problematic, the growing township was providing residents with their needs. The picturesque Nook Falls cascaded by the nearby flour mill.

 A school was constructed and was soon followed by the opening of a Post Office. 

From the window of her home, Christina could see over her picket fenced verandah, beyond the front paddock, to the church. As was common then, Christina had borne eleven children. As was less common, she had lost only one child in his infancy. Her bonnie lads and lassies had all attended the school and they participated eagerly in church activities.

                                                Hamilton Homestead

 She had a rare, quiet moment as she gazed over to the church. She had sent the younger children off to gather ferns. Tomorrow was the first Harvest Thanksgiving service at the church and she was helping the decoration of the interior with fruits, flowers and ferns. Her mind wandered back to her old church her parents attended in Ayeshire, half a world away. Her children would never grow up hearing fine Scottish Presbyterian prayers or thick renditions of Robbie Burns poems. She seldom let her thoughts run along old, forgotten paths. She could not afford time in wistfulness. She, and her peers, did not have the luxury to indulge in self-serving thoughts and divisions. They had put aside religious and theological division, class and cultural tradition. They needed to work together and support each other in what had often proved to be a difficult life. They had to baptise, solemnise, inter, worship and all sit under the same spiritual instruction together in that little chapel under the teaching of the Rev J.W. Edwards. Edwards was the newly appointed minister of the Sheffield circuit and his message tomorrow was to be The Harvest: The End of the World.  

Christina’s thoughts were abruptly halted when the children ran inside with armfuls of beautiful fern fronds they had gathered from the river gully. Christina helped the children with the ferns, took her basket of apples and pears gathered from the backyard orchard, and headed over to the church to join the other women.

When she arrived, the choir, which included her eldest girls Elizabeth, Mary and Jessie, were practicing their hymns and anthems for tomorrow’s service. Miss Bell was preparing children’s activities and Christina’s sons William, Jim and Tom with other local lads were helping to hang bunting and clean up after the ladies had trimmed and rejected some of the foliage and greenery.

It was April and the autumn was cooling. Sandy and Christina sat that evening by their fire. The days were growing shorter and The Nook, being a secluded hollow, could be cold and damp as the winter months came upon them.  

“The church looks mighty fine,” Sandy commented to Christina, “You ladies did a beautiful job.”

“We have plenty of reasons for thanksgiving,” Christina answered. The community had pulled together. Nook residents had a reputation for being unobtrusive and hospitable to a fault and the Hamiltons were a part of that founding group of brave and quietly achieving pioneers.      

Reflective Statement:

In this writing, I have tried to recreate a day in the lives of my Scottish GGGrandparents, Sandy and Christina Hamilton. Family anecdotes were always told about the Scotsman Sandy, but nothing was ever said about Christina.  I thoroughly enjoyed writing this and was thrilled to find much mention of the Nook Wesleyan Church in Trove newspapers.  The story of the choosing of the church’s denomination was told to me by Sandy’s grandson, so I cannot verify it. I have tried to stress the need our pioneer ancestors had to work together and put aside religious differences, and how important the function of a church was to them. Churches provided a means of coming together, entertainment, outlets for creativity, courting and marriage and support in deaths, regardless of an individual’s belief system. Sandy and Christina were to lose five of their adult children in the 1890’s, the next decade after the setting of this narrative.

Using one event, I have tried to bring the town of Nook and its landscape to life. Seven hundred and fifty words is a difficult task as there is so much more to say, but hopefully I’ve taken a snapshot, while still including some background context and some multi-generational information.

Writing this drew me into their world completely, so I really hope the reader may experience a little of that also.         

Bibliography

With The Pioneers, Charles Ramsay , Mercury-Walch, Hobart

Touring Tasmania in the 1880’s, the newspaper articles by Theophilus Jones transcribed by D.J.L. Archer

North West Post July 1909,  nla.gov.au

North Coast Standard, April 1894, trove.nla.gov.au

Conversation with Ross Hamilton  1989

                        

A Modern Fairytale. The Idiopathic Hypersomniac Princess.

Once upon a time a lovely little daughter was born to an upwardly mobile  Melbourne couple. They named her Aurora Elizabeth Jane and organised a very nice after party at her christening which was at that old cathedral in the city. A very nice affair.

All the gorgeous friends and relatives were invited, well except one. The mother's cousin. Her name was Skye Laark and she lived in Byron Bay. The new mum just did not want her cousin to ruin the day. Skye Laark (born Tracie Lee Buck) was into potions, herbs and spells, wore outrageous clothes, smelt of incense and had a quite tasteless tatoo.
"You've made the right decision" said the other cousins, "she probably wouldn't come anyway".

The day was going beautifully, all those thousands spent on pink flowers and  fairy lights were worth it! That was until.....Skye Laark turned up with her son Gnu York and her little girl, Northern Star.
"My invitation must have been lost" she said.

Aurora's mum was squirming. The invitation had plainly stated No Children!
And her hair...it was bright orange, well half of it anyway; the other half was shaved!
 All the christening gifts had been given. Skye Laark had a gift. She hung some weird little amulet around Aurora's neck.
"Hmm, karma, I see karma",
"On her eighteenth birthday she will prick her finger and henceforth suffer from idiopathic hypersomnia."

Skye Laark mingled with her cousins, drank the champers while her two children ran rampant and barefoot around the venue. One last cousin had one last gift. "Pfft, rubbish "she told Aurora's mum, "true love and a pure heart will save her", and she placed a gold bracelet with a tiny blue bird charm on it around the baby's wrist.

Aurora grew into a very beautiful girl and as very beautiful girls sometimes are, she was a Princess, and in using this word I don't mean royal! She was a spoilt, entitled brat of a girl.

On her eighteenth birthday she went shopping at Chadstone. She saw a pair of Christian Louboutin, 120mm stilettos, beige blush patent leather, made in Italy, red leather sole, only $700; she had to have them.

She picked them up and pricked her finger on a nail under the heel.

A tiny drop of blood dripped unnoticed on to the red leather.
"I feel weird" she said to her mum as she slumped onto the pink velvet chesterfield sofa in the middle of the shop.
A doctor was called. She was fine, he concluded, simply asleep. I'm sure she'll awaken, he reassured.
No one could move her. She lay sleeping all that day, all that night, all the next day and night.
Soon the media caught wind of her. Tracey Grimshaw was the first. She was dubbed "Chadstone's Sleeping Beauty" by tv shows and newspapers alike. Her fame spread, what a shame she wasn't awake to see it.

Her mother recalled her christening day. "Surely not" she said to her therapist!

Pretty soon young men, driven by the media campaign lined up to awaken her.
None were successful. One young man started a Facebook page. I alone am true of love and pure of heart he stated. He soon had thousands of likers. He was interviewed on The Project. He was sweet, genuine and the excitement was building. His name was Prince! Yes, his mother was a massive fan of the singer and had named her son after him!

The day came, cameras and journalists scuffled and the shoe shop was happy for the publicity it had received over the last few months.

Aurora wasn't looking so good by now, but when you're immobile, it's hard to keep someone looking faboosh.
Prince said a few words and approached Aurora and planted a gentle kiss on her luscious lips.

She stirred. She opened her eyes. There were cheers, there were camera flashes, her mother cried and Prince beamed. It slowly dawned on her.' It's me, they're photographing me!' she realized. She smiled.  She felt the dampness of drool on her cheek.
'I've been asleep' she realized.
She rubbed her eyes. Mascara smeared on her fingers. She felt her hair, it did NOT have the silky feel of freshly straightened hair that it should.
She was suddenly mortified, horrified and terrified. She bolted upright and saw her reflection in the huge mirror in front of her.

She screamed, pushed Prince aside and had a tantrum and demanded a hair straightener immediately.
Her performance went viral and her fifteen minutes of fame was an embarrassing affair for her poor mother.

Aurora and Prince lived happily ever after.
Prince who was indeed pure of heart and true of love married a lovely girl and they lived a charmed life.
Aurora marketed herself brilliantly and continues to make bucket loads of money swanning about as the Sleeping Beauty and face of Louboutin's ongoing advertising campaigns.

                                                                         April 2013 shoot for Madame Figaro China

Two Hobbits, a Dinosaur and a War Plane.

I have my two year old grandson staying. From time to time during the day he needs a little "quiet bed time" (as you do). His dad ratted about in the closets for some toys and I discovered I was sadly lacking in the toy department.
Two hobbit figurines, a plastic T-rex and a model war plane.
Hmm, bit sad. But actually, I got to thinking a great story could be made from that combination.
A bed is a fantastic place for playtime. A bedspread can become a whole land with roads and fields, put you knee up and instantly you have a mountain, valleys and cliff faces.
A patchwork quilt gives you a farm and the old chenille covers from back in the day give you labyrinthine paths.

So, as a creative writing exercise:

Two Hobbits, A Dinosaur and a War Plane. 

As everyone knows, hobbits are a gentle, meek folk, but true of heart and courageous.

One day one of the great overlords of the land, William of Hodgeman, came to two such hobbits.

He had heard of their great deeds and their great valour.

"I have a mighty quest for you" he told the lads, "a foully dangerous thing must be destroyed and banished from our fair land forever. You must journey to the Edge of the World and cast this object from us" he entreated to them as he handed them a scroll.

The brave hobbits set out on their unknown journey. The first days were pleasant. They passed through the  bouroughs of Paradise, the Promised Land and the delightful land of Belauh, where all is always lovely. When they stopped for elevensies they found that the rock cakes their mother had made them rattled about in the tin and became gravel cakes. This was the only difficulty on the journey.

As they journeyed west, they encountered perils. This was a wild and dangerous land, with strange and unknown inhabitants. They passed through Murderer's Gulley and emerged breathless but alive.

The land of Flowerdale, which belied it's name and bore no flowers had strange , silent figures watching the hobbits as they passed. Occasionally great and violent wheeled monsters roared past them. Once one of these monsters died and spewed it's evil load out. The young hobbits hid and watched.

They passed by the infamous Misery Mountain and to the dreaded Dismal Swamp.

 That night as they lay down they had the feeling they were being watched.

Their journey end was drawing closer. They were weary and afraid as the land grew hostile and perilous. They knew they were being followed.

"Did you hear that Mr Frodo?" asked Sam, as they heard a rustling of vegetation.

They turned around to see a great monster just behind them.

"Run Mr Frodo, run"

After many dangers. toils and snares they reached the Edge of the World.

They knew they were there because there is a sign. They unfurled the scroll.

"I must take a peep" said Sam

He read the title of the document. "The Forest Peace Agreement"

The brave hobbits wrapped it with a stone and threw it off the Edge of the World never to be seen again.

They heard a noise above them and a plane circled and landed behind them. Another of the Great Land Overlords disembarked and approached them. It was Sir Clive of Palmer.

"Good job boys, just checking you did the deed. Now I will begin mining and logging your fair isle."

"Have you met my associate?" 

He gestured to the great dinosaur. "Nice to meet you boys, I nearly caught up to you on the way" he said 

The hobbits, never a folk to take avid interest in politics, had not realised they were pawns in a political power play. They accepted Sir Clive's offer of a flight back to the Shire and so the two ugly dinosaurs and the two hobbits were returned to their respective lifestyles to live happily ever after.

P.S. I will be investing in some decent toys shortly.

A Writing Excise: A Modern fairytale.

Once upon a time there was a young and beautiful princess. She was from a small European principality and descended from a long and wide line of royalty. She was taking a gap year and touring Australia. That was how she found herself stranded in Lower Wilmot, Tasmania. Her car had broken down. She walked to the nearest homestead to garner help.

"Come in dear" said the friendly local lady upon hearing her plight. "No you will simply stay the night here with us. Brian will get the car going in the morning."

As it happened, Brian was also descended from European royalty. His wife Marlene was quite proud of her royal connections but never mentioned the fact that her husband's great great grandfather was shipped off to the colonies as a matter of convenience for the family.

Marlene had high hopes her son Shaun would marry well, but well connected aristocracy didn't surface much on rsvp.com. Now here she was, at her door, beautiful, young, excellent english.

"Brian make up the guest bed" Marlene said. "But use the KMart sheets. If she's really a princess, she won't sleep a wink in them."
In the morning the Princess emerged looking very well rested. "I slept wonderfully, thankyou" she replied when asked. "Brian, get her the Black & Gold brand Corn Flakes' Marelene whispered "if she's really a Princess, she'll choke on them". The Princess ate them with enthusiasm. Marlene was getting suspicious.
"Now the bathroom's down the hall, go have a shower dear" said Marlene.
"Brian, get a new block of  Country Fresh soap, if she's really a Princess that stuff will bring her out in an awful rash."

She emerged happy and refreshed. Marlene was getting surer this girl was a fraud. "My you speak excellent English dear, did you learn that at the Sorbonne?"
"No, I watch lots of Disney movies" she laughed "somebody poisoned the waterhole" she said in a perfect American accent. Brian walked in. "Got your car going love" he said.

Marlene was very keen to find out more before she let this girl go though, she really wanted Shaun married off well. "Your family, they are financing this trip for you?" she asked
"haha, no" she replied "my job at Maccas financed this. Even before the GFC my family had long since lost their fortune and sold the jewels".
"No castle?" Marlene further enquired.
"No, there may be a slight ruin left."
"No tiaras, orbs, sceptres?"
"Haha no, none of that old rubbish."
Marlene sighed. "Oh what a shame my dear. You'd better be off them"

The young Princess lived happily ever after and Shaun moved to Ulverstone.