Saint Helena by the Shaw

By Morris De Judicibus

The main protagonist relates the events that follow a chance meeting with a younger woman that he assists when she is stranded on a country road near her home.

He is in his early sixties, working as a botanist at the Botanic Garden of an old established University.
The events begin while he is travelling back to his small property in the Western District of Victoria that over a period of years he is revegetating to restore it to the it’s natural environment.

What really changed his life is the friendship and later relationship that develops between them during the time they spend together working on the discovery of artifacts and documents found on the property that relate to the area’s original violent conflict between colonists and indigenous inhabitants.

The woman in her mid-thirties and her eight-year-old daughter have recently settled in the picturesque Port Fairy region after her divorce in a domineering and violent marriage. She is now working as a chef at a Boutique Hotel near the foreshore close to the town

The re-emergence of the violent ex-husband in her life following her new relationship comes to a climax bringing danger to them all and perhaps their future together.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Jan 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781669885207

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Copyright © 2022 by Morris De Judicibus.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 01/19/2022

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CONTENTS

ISaint Helena by The Shaw

IIThe Axe

IIIOld Jack

IVBelfast

VA Quiet Dinner

VIThe Bridge Incident

VIIThe Old Tobacco Tin

VIIIFound and Lost

IXCarly’s Surprise

XRose Rosse Per Té

XIMixed Messages

XIIClearing The Air

XIIIDreaming With Eyes Wide Open

XIVOld Wounds Never Heal

XVSaturday

XVIFamily Reunion

XVIIUncovering the Past

XVIIIA Family Discussion

XIXAn Interesting Turn of Events

XXBetween a Rock and a Hard Place

XXITo love One Is To ..

XXIIHeart To Heart With Daughter No 1

XXIIIAn Important Decision

XXIVMissing Persons’ Report

XXVA Bleak Day

XXVIA Painful Conversation

XXVIIFeeling of Desperation

XXVIIIMinimal Progress

XXIXFirst Day

XXXWhere Are You?

XXXIVisit to The Hospital

XXXIIOnly You

XXXIIIA Good Night’s Sleep

XXXIVRecovery

XXXVCarly’s Return

XXXVIA Long Recovery

XXXVIIChallenging News

XXXVIIIThank You Dr Day

XXXIXA Relative Calm, But

XLP. F.

XLILunch With Mrs. Garrard

XLIIMending Fences

XLIIIDanni - My Beautiful Danni

XLIV‘Now Was The Time’

XLVBad News Just Doesn’t Go Away

XLVIAn Unexpected Result

XLVIIGood Copper Dave

XLVIIIBack To Melbourne

XLIXBlack Baccara Roses

LWedding Day

Notes from the Narrator:

The small property bordering the Shaw River in a picturesque area of Saint Helens in the Western Districts of Victoria is just a few kilometres N-W of Port Fairy. The property is named St. Helena by the Shaw after St. Helena, the remote and windswept island in the Atlantic Ocean which became Napoleon’s confinement to end his days. But for the Narrator his property called by the same name was an isolated and peaceful refuge away from the turmoil of his past. As time went by, he uncovered the dark events that had occurred there in the past. But what really changed his life was a chance meeting with a young woman

The historic people R.H. Woodard, J. Atkinson and Colonel Charles Wall were important in the establishment of Port Fairy as a new settlement in the Western Districts of the Port Philip District of New South Wales, later to become the separate colony of Victoria.

In this narrative the imaginary Garrard family are apparently related to them.

I

Saint Helena by The Shaw

I left work later than I had planned so I would arrive at the Block close to 11 o’clock - it couldn’t be helped. By the time I’d put everything away and locked the gates to the System Garden packed my car and left the University grounds it was almost 6:30 pm. Still, driving in the dark didn’t bother me though I was already feeling tired but I didn’t want to leave the next morning.

I bypassed Geelong at about 8:30 pm. I thought that was quite good but by the time I got to Colac it started to rain, first large drops then a heavy downpour, by the time I got to Warrnambool I could barely see the road. My eyelids were getting heavy and I nearly ran off the road a couple of times - the second time really scared me as I nearly hit a tree. I decided to turn off the highway and drove into Woodbine Road at the bend where it becomes Skenes Road which runs beside Belfast Lough and pulled up in a clearing.

I’ll have a power nap for 15 minutes or so I thought as I switched my lights off. I noticed another car about ten meters further. I reclined the seat and closed my eyes; I was so tired I quickly fell asleep.

I was woken up a little later by a tap-tap on the window. At first, I thought it was a branch that had snapped off in the high wind. It was still raining quite heavily and I shifted in my seat to be more comfortable. Then I heard a series of taps again - someone was knocking on my window. I looked and could vaguely see a face, a woman’s face, rain falling on her face and she was saying something I could not understand. She looked distressed. I wound the window down a little and said - rather irritated What do you want? She apologised for disturbing me and said Could you please help me; my car has broken down? Still annoyed I said I’m not a mechanic, I can’t help. Why don’t you call the RACV? Then I felt bad and said Come in, sit down. Thank you so much she said as she opened the passenger door and sat down. My phone is out of charge as well, could I please use yours? OK, and handed her my mobile.

She tapped in a number and a few seconds later spoke to someone. My car has broken down, I’m on Skenes Road next to the Lough. After a little conversation, she said no that’s ok. a kind man has stopped to help me, we’ll be there in 10 minutes - thanks, see you soon.

She handed the phone back to me and said Thanks again, I’ll sort out the problem with the car tomorrow. You know Port Fairy?

Yes.

"Could you drop me off at the Hotel ‘Wander by the Water’ just down this road in Gipps Street, just the other side of the river?"

OK. I straightened my seat and started the engine. I continued down the road and crossed the Moyne River at the Gipps Street Bridge.

Thank you! I don’t know what I would have done, the car’s lights slowly dimmed and went out and then the motor stopped. I had my phone on the car charger so that didn’t work either.

You’re out rather late I said.

I’ve been sitting there for over an hour and I couldn’t do anything in this heavy rain and strong wind. Yes, it’s pretty rough out there, are you staying at the Hotel? No, yes I actually work there, I’m the chef at Wander’s…. I’m returning from a trip to Melbourne to take my eight-year-old daughter to her father she paused, sounding exhausted she’s staying with him for one week of the school holidays.

I see and you were returning h....

Yes, I’ve lived here for the last two years since the divorce - and I got a job at the Hotel.

So, you’re a chef?

Yes, I was expected back almost two hours ago.

I’m sorry you had this drama I said as I pulled into the Hotel car park.

Please come in. The manager would like to meet you and thank you for the help.

OK I said, but I can’t stay long. I’ve still got another half hour drive ahead of me.

Oh, you don’t live in Port Fairy?

No, I’ve got a block at Saint Helens.

We got out of the car as an elderly man stood on the veranda.

He said to the young lady you’d better go in and get some dry clothes on.

She turned to me and gave me a quick embrace and said thanks again for your help.

I’m glad I took that side road I said.

The elderly man answered yes she’s lucky you did. It’s not used much, especially at night when it gets quite foggy because of the Lough.

We shook hands and I turned to leave. By the way he said, call in for a meal, she’s a great chef.

Thank you - and good night I said as I left.

Back on the Princes Highway I drove until I turned right on a gravel road and then left at the bridge until I got to the narrow track by the Shaw River. It was still raining quite heavily, the river would be flowing quite fast with all this rain. I parked the car in the old stone building. It was an old hay shed built out of blue stone blocks. Although there were only three sides it had a pitched iron roof that kept the old Masonite caravan safe from wind and water. I left the engine idling and the lights on until I lit the kerosene lamp and took the bags from the car. I switched the lights and engine off and went into the caravan. Although it was small and old, probably built by the farmer I bought the land from, it was cosy and felt comfortable. At one end was my bed, in the middle was a table, one chair and small gas stove and towards the front was a small wardrobe and shelves where I kept books and a few ornaments.

The northern and eastern border of the property was dense bushland, it was fenced with post-and-rail timber, which was logged on site when the original pioneer settled the area. The Shaw River formed the western boundary and a gravel road on the south. It was only a small property, 15 acres which I bought from the grazier who still owned over 1900 acres next door. I called it Saint Helena after the tiny island in the Atlantic Ocean off the West Coast of Africa - Napoleon’s last resting place.

But I suppose a play on the name of this area ‘Saint Helens’.

The heavy rain kept drumming on the tin roof of the hay shed, but the caravan was protected and safe. When I first came here after another torrential rainstorm, I found an Aboriginal stone axe head near the riverbank. I was looking at it and thinking of the original owner. I wanted to donate it to the local Historical Society but since then I had discovered some disturbing events that occurred during the early contact between the settlers and the original inhabitants that made me rethink the donation. But now, I was so tired, I just wanted to go to bed. I opened the bottle of Caol Ila that I’d brought with me and poured a glass, turned the kerosene lamp off and went to bed. I was soon asleep.

II

The Axe

I woke up refreshed, had a bowl of cereal and milk and went outside. The weather had cleared, the sky was bright blue, the sun warming the air. I put on gumboots and headed towards the river. I wondered if the storm had caused any damage on the riparian zone. No, everything was fine - no erosion on my side of the river. The hard landscaping I had done over the past had held fast, all the trees and shrubs I’d planted were doing well. I was really pleased with all the work I had put in over the years. I had carefully checked the EVC and had planted according to the vegetation zones. River Red Gum (Eucalyptus camaldulensis), Swamp Gum (E. ovata) and Manna Gum (E. viminalis), the wattles, shrubs, sedges, forbs and eventually I’d include native orchids.

I walked back towards the area where the foundation for a future house had been poured a couple of years ago but I had not done anything else other than the revegetation of a section by the road and riverbank.

When I first came to this place, there was not a tree in sight. Everything had been cleared for grazing, so looking around the area now I was beginning to feel a sense of satisfaction, of contributing to the restoration of a landscape to how it once was. But there was still so much to do, thousands of plants to put in.

I looked around me and mentally made a commitment to it that while it was only a small piece of land, I was going to restore this. I thought about the original owners, or the original carers of this land, how they interacted with it, how they used it and not abused it. As I walked along the riverbank, I picked up a flat pebble to throw across the water. How many times could I make it bounce?

As I was looking at the stone in my hand, I remembered the stone axe head I found somewhere along here. I wondered if there were other items scattered by the riverbank. I walked along until I got to the post and rail fence marking the boundary, but did not find anything.

I decided to visit the Historical Society this afternoon so I went back to the caravan, got my back-pack and put the stone axe inside, got in the car and drove to Port Fairy. I pulled up outside the Society’s building in Gipps Street and walked into the old Bluestone building. I paid the young lady at the front desk the $5.00 entrance fee and asked to see someone in regards to indigenous artifacts. She told me to wait and a few minutes later came back with an elderly man, who introduced himself as Jock - I said That’s a good Scottish name; you must be a descendant of one of the early settlers. No, the early settlers were mainly Irish, but how can I help you? he answered, brief and to the point. I told him who I was and where I lived. Aye, so you’re the city fellow that got a couple of acres from the Garrard’s. Now there’s a family from the early settlers, Irish from Armagh to be precise.

Yes, I’m actually restoring the landscape that was originally there, but why I’m here now is to ask about any historical artifacts that may be found there.

It depends on what you find, Jock said. If it’s related to the early pioneers, then we’re interested. He paused for a minute, then continued What have you found?".

I didn’t want to give too much away at present. I had known of farmers who’ve unearthed some artifacts on their land and, upon declaring to the authorities, have had the area taken over by Government authorities and archaeologists. So, I just said let me get this straight. If I find any colonial era artifacts, I should let you know? Aye. Look we’re all volunteers here and we…. I interrupted What about Aboriginal items? Likewise, he said. You let us know and we inform the traditional owners.

Who were the traditional owners for this area? I asked him.

The Eastern Maar people, but it’s more complicated than that. The Maar comprised about six distinct groups that ranged across south-western Victoria from Portland to the Otway’s, perhaps they are better known are the Gunditjmara.

Thank you - I suppose there is a local land council?

Of course! It’s the EMAC, the Easter Maar Aboriginal Corporation. Anything else I can help you with?

No - you’ve been very helpful, thanks, I turned around and headed for the door.

The young lady at the front counter smiled and said Thank you for your visit, please come back again.

I stopped and asked her By the way, does the EMAC have an office in town?

No, she replied they’re based in Warrnambool.

Thank you, I said and left.

I called in to a nearby takeaway and bought food for that night.

I kept thinking about the stone axe and if I should go to Warrnambool but perhaps, I’ll leave that for another day. I was eager to get back home and start clearing out the hay shed. I parked the car in the usual spot next to the caravan and looked around the shed. I had only cleared about a quarter of the area for the caravan and the car but the rest was still full of rubbish from the original owners.

When I first came here the shed was full of hay bales and rubbish. The previous owners cleared them out a few days later, the rest of the rubbish which was mostly old broken furniture and boxes of who-knows-what would be cleared in the next few weeks. But it’s been almost ten years now and they’re still here. Old Jack Garrard from whom I had bought the land had died about seven years ago and his son Young Jack had died of a heart attack a couple of years ago at the young age of sixty-five.

Old Jack’s widow, Mrs Garrard, was the current owner but at her age was not able to continue the management of the property.

When young Jack passed away, his wife left the district with their son and lived in Toorak, the son now was enjoying life as a Barrister in Melbourne.

So, I assumed nobody would be interested in sifting through the cast-offs any more.

I decided to spend the rest of the day clearing out the area so I could install a generator and a few other things to make the place more comfortable before I started to think about building the new house.

I started by carrying out some of the old furniture. There were old chairs with missing legs or broken backs, too far gone to be restored. The earthen floor of the shed had not been kind to the timber and rot had set in.

I made a stack just outside and would burn them at a later stage.

A kitchen dresser with missing doors and broken leadlight panels was next, cardboard boxes with broken crockery and chipped plates. I put those aside, thinking that there must be a tip somewhere that I could take them to.

An old iron chest that had rusted locks and was very heavy to move intrigued me. I wondered what was inside. I took a shovel and hit the locks, they were iron not brass and after a few minutes of hitting them, they finally broke off. The hinges were also rusted so I had to prize the lid off. After some effort, I opened the chest.

On top was a neatly folded blanket, it was dark grey with a red and blue border, likely wool from the old Warrnambool Woollen Mills. I had seen this kind before.

I picked it up, it was falling apart, riddled with holes from silverfish and moths.

Old newspapers were neatly stacked under the blanket. I picked one up, it was yellowed and frayed at the edges. The banner was in gothic print The Port Fairy Gazette. The date was January 2, 1914. The Great war was still nine months away. Interesting advertising featured on the front page

W.M. Rundell, Undertakers Port Fairy

R. Poole Baker and Confectioner

"Steedmans Soothing Powders for Children.

Relieve Feverish Heat, Prevent Fits"

Hearne’s Bronchitis Cure

I removed the neatly stacked newspapers and what lay underneath really surprised me - Aboriginal artifacts. Ground edged axes still attached to their wooden hafts, I counted six, looked like they were only used yesterday. As I sifted through the items, I laid them down on the ground next to me. There were stone axes, grinding stones, wooden implements I assumed digging sticks, small clap sticks, a large number of flaked stone tools - the edges were still very sharp and hammer stones. This was a real treasure trove.

I went in the caravan and took the stone axe head I’d found by the riverbank and compared it with the items from the iron chest. The axe head looked well-worn and was still covered with mud from when I found it. These items from the chest looked like they had recently been used. I wondered about the people who had made them, and used them in their everyday activities. They must have been found on the property when Robert Woodward first settled here and dispossessed the original owners. I carefully put the items back in the chest and put the newspapers and blanket back. I felt uncomfortable about what I’d found. The items looked like war trophies. I didn’t want to hand them over to the Museum, they belong to the descendants of the original owners. But how do I go about his?

This property which I originally sought out as a peaceful place has suddenly become problematic. It disturbs me, I can’t just leave all this as if nothing happened. But … where to start?

III

Old Jack

I woke up at seven after a troubled sleep. I dreamt that I was standing barefoot on the edge of the Shaw River. I looked down at the water swirling around my feet, it was becoming blood-red. I jumped back on the shore and the water kept flowing crystal clear. I stepped back in the water and it became red again. Then I woke up.

I went outside and surveyed the broken furniture still stacked up in the hay shed. I want to know what else is buried in these boxes. I took more pieces of the broken furniture and threw them on the heap outside. In a sealed tea chest, after forcing the top open, it revealed papers, documents and journals as well as a large brown envelope with OHMS printed on top. I could still make out the neat copperplate writing, almost faded away R. Woodward Esq. The address was almost illegible but I could just see Belfast. I could not see the sender’s address.

The damp conditions of the tea chest and the mould almost covering everything made many of the envelopes and individual sheets of paper stick together. This would require the work of a manuscript restoration expert. Towards the bottom of the tea-chest I found a Cuban Cedar Cigar box. I opened the small brass latch and inside was a bundle of letters bound with a green silk ribbon. I pulled out one envelope, the top was cut with the letter opener that was also in the box. It was shaped like a military dress sword. I took the letter out and unfolded it. The writing was fine, delicate, a woman’s writing. Dated Sydney 13th July 1843 and addressed to My dear brother James. I didn’t want to read any further. I put the letter back with the others in the cedar box and closed the lid. There were other official looking documents also addressed to James Atkinson, Esq. Belfast.

The sender was Colonel Charles Wall, 3rd Buff Regiment, Sydney.

I didn’t know who these people were but I assumed they must somehow be related to each other. It’s almost 11:30 am so I packed up the boxes and drove down to the Hotel on Gipps Street.

I located Wonder, it looks like a fairly new building and one of the luxury hotels in town. I walked in and asked a waitress if I could see the chef.

She said it was the Chefs’ day off and the assistant Chef would be busy in the kitchen. I told her who I was and gave my phone number to pass on. She said Oh you’re the man that helped her when her car broke down the other night.

Yes, she told me to call in. I just wanted to say hello to her and see how she is.

The waitress asked me to wait and went to the office. She came back and handed me a business card with the Hotel Manager’s name. She said that he’d written the Chef, Daniela’s details on the back. I took the card and thanked her. I sat down on a lounge chair and called the number.

Hello, Daniela speaking

Hi, I called in at the Hotel but they told me it was your day off.

She recognized my voice I’m glad you called, she said. You haven’t had lunch yet have you?

No, I was going to eat at the Hotel.

Good, come over. Lunch will be ready soon. The address is Cox Street, just around the corner from the Hotel. There’s a big Golden Elm in the front - I’ll look out for you.

I drove there and parked in the driveway; she was standing at the open door.

Come in, welcome! she called out as if greeting an old friend. I walked up the steps to the front door, she put out her arms and gave me a hug.

Come in, lunch is ready, she said as she directed me to the kitchen. It’s so nice to see you.

I sat down at the kitchen table - an old green Laminex with chrome legs.

Very 50’s I said.

Thank you. I just love this place.

I’m not sure if she meant the house or the town - probably both.

She set a plate in front of me and said It’s leek and feta pie. It’s a Greek dish.

I thought Daniela was an Italian name?

It is, my parents are Sicilian, I take after my mother, blond hair and blue eyes - must be the Norman heritage.

She laughed. It was a gentle almost silvery bell tingling kind of laugh - it put me at ease.

After lunch we need a coffee she said and I agreed. She busied herself with clearing the table and making coffee. The pot was an unusual contraption that I’d never seen before. It came apart in several sections with a tap-like spout on one half, a few minutes later the coffee pot was hissing, the steam from the boiling water was coming out of the spout. She deftly turned the pot upside down and you could hear the liquid percolating in the lower section with the spout. I’ve never seen anything like it! I replied.

"It’s called Caffettiera Napoletana - a coffee pot commonly used in the south of Italy.

It’s much older than the espresso pot