The Top Valley Enigma

By Richard Stanton

In The Top Valley Enigma, a tale unfolds of a wealthy American conservationist whose solitary and zealous nature leads him to Australia. Motivated by the discovery of ancient human remains and the threat of a new coal mine, his journey takes a turn when he meets a businesswoman from the United States in Melbourne. Their shared interests spark an unexpected partnership, and together they embark on a captivating adventure.

Their journey is marked by serene yachting days and a mesmerizing visit to the Great Barrier Reef, experiences that deepen their bond and become pivotal in their lives. The duo aligns with local conservationists and discovers a cattle farm that is crucial to their quest, revealing significant archaeological finds of early human life.

Meanwhile, the shadows of a complex past, including a major share trading deal, lurk behind the American conservationist. As their mission to thwart the coal mine gains momentum, they become entwined in a web of past endeavors in conservation. This ignites a wave of revenge from individuals with long memories, profoundly impacted by his previous actions. The Top Valley Enigma masterfully weaves a story of archaeological discovery, environmental activism, and the intricate play of human connections and past deeds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Mar 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9781528988841

Richard Stanton

Richard Stanton lives with his wife on the far south coast of New South Wales. He spent his formative years surrounded by a river, orange orchards and small farms. He has written about Australian politics, global media, mountaineering and widowhood. His great-grandfather was a Cornishman who arrived in Australia in 1830 and established himself in Castlereagh.

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About the Author

Richard Stanton and his wife, Gay, lived and worked in the city of Sydney. In 1882, his forebears established a commercial property agency where, generations later, Richard made his career. He became CEO and Chairman and expanded the name across the five major Australian cities. The Stantons have three daughters and live on a small cattle property in the Upper Hunter district, north of Sydney. The land has a river frontage and has views of the Great Dividing Range.

Copyright Information ©

Richard Stanton 2024

The right of Richard Stanton to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528988834 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781528988841 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

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E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

With sincere thanks to Peter W. Bishop.

Chapter One

Flood

The rain ceased overnight and Matt Walker, keen to look around the family farm at the benefits that came from the downpour, a full dam or two being one and any damage caused. Astride his four-wheeled quad bike, he left the sheds and headed first for the Tooi River that formed his boundary. The bike, at low speed, splashed through sheets of water and threw mud. He rode down through grey box trees, opening and closing gates and noting the condition of those cattle near the track. The final approach to the river over a flat, with tall grass and muddy pools, a small mob of startled kangaroos bounced away from the intruder.

Matt stopped at the riverbank, a steep angle down to water level, having cut a deep channel over the ages. He dismounted and walked the last few meters to the lip of the bank. A swift-moving brown mass greeted him, but he could see the river, higher during the night, to the point of leaving its channel.

Standing on the edge, he looked about. As he did so, his weight broke the edge and he slid down the steep bank, feet first, quite upright. His lower foot hit on a protruding rock and stopped his slide.

Ground floor, thank you, he said to thin air, grateful he would not go for a swim in a nasty looking brown stream. He stood, one hand on the bank, one foot on the rock.

As he considered the messy looking task of climbing up the slippery bank, a combination of black soil and gravel, his eye caught a protruding, spherical shaped object, at his knee level, scraped clean by his sliding boots. Walker noted a contrast from the smooth, dark grey, basalt stones that dominated here, shaped by a million floods. The object, a different colour and texture, he thought, as he wiped off the last smears of mud.

Standing on his precarious rock platform, he formed the opinion that it could be an animal skull, or other bone exposed by this flood, and might be of interest to some experts, after all, who knows, perhaps it’d been buried there for millennia. An hour after satisfying himself about farm matters, Matt returned to the homestead.

The place, bought by the Walkers with the proceeds of a deceased estate, although of modest area, the main attraction being the good basalt soil and areas of arable land, the house also a strong point. White painted weatherboard, so common in these circumstances, wide verandas on three sides, pitched corrugated roof, a garden, although of limited spread, indicating an owner not given to this art. A good life at hand, set off by a valley view much admired by visitors. While the house, on the shabby side when bought, a tart-up by the Walkers brought it up to scratch, as they said. The name Top Valley was given to it long in the past.

Hi, darl! from Matt, kicking off muddy boots at the back door and throwing a hat with a floppy brim onto a hook as he entered the house and found his wife in the kitchen. Big fresh in the Tooi, he pronounced it as ‘two-eye’, the local interpretation of some aboriginal name, long ago distorted.

I slid down the bank and when I pulled up, found what could be an animal bone, or skull just exposed by the fresh, almost buried, well down from the top of the bank, God knows how old.

Matt Walker, a tall and boney man with blue jeans, a navy shirt, knife on the belt, outdoors a hat older than his father, but seldom blown off due to a pliable brim. He showered and shaved at night, offering black stubble with a touch of grey, by day.

Wendy Walker poured tea into cups. A contrast to her husband, who kept in shape through exertion on the farm, Wendy had become a bit generous of figure and her friends considered her short, fair hair perhaps too short. A cheerful woman, her attractive, round face offering a delightful smile and a woman much liked by those who knew her.

Wendy said, Perhaps you’ll need an expert to identify your discovery.

Yeah, will do, darl, and have been thinking of an old school buddy; a geologist. Hit me with your good tea and I’ll give the school a call, they keep tabs on old pupils.

The school had what they believed a correct work number for a former pupil. Frank Allerton, geologist and Matt dialled, soon connected by staff.

A voice from the past, Frank, Matt Walker, remember me?

Good God, Matt, years since we spoke. You were always a tall, slim guy. How do you shape up now? Anyway, looking for funds for the old school, is that it?

Not funds this time, Walker responded, but farm work keeps me in shape, although grey paint must be falling from the shed roof and landing on my head. I can’t claim to be twenty anymore.

He continued to explain to the Geologist the item in the riverbank, scraped by his boot.

OK, Matt, replied Allerton, before stirring up an Archaeologist, I should take a look myself. I could come up on the weekend if you’ll be there, we have nothing on and will bring Charl, if that’s OK. I don’t think you’ve met her.

Good one, Frank, we’ll be here, said Matt, Take the freeway north… Matt gave directions to the Top Valley gate, some 300 kilometres from the city.

Friday evening and the Allerton four-wheel drive pulled up at the Top Valley garden gate. A chorus from several kelpie cattle dogs behind the house served better than any doorbell. Matt, two at a time, went down the steps to welcome a man after a gap of twenty years and to meet his wife for the first time.

As he shook her hand, Walker contemplated Charl Allerton, a freckled face, flame-red hair, perhaps not her natural tone, a long, multi-coloured dress and several chains of beads to top off the outfit. After an exchange of pleasantries, Matt decided not to remark on the appearance of Frank Allerton, so changed over the years and looked an oddity in the bush. The Geologist now with two defining elements in his appearance, a bush of grey hair with a standing, electric-shock quality and a pair of big diameter, circular, black-rimmed glasses.

I’ve been labelled ‘professor’; gives me an intellectual look. Good for clients, he would say to those familiar enough to ask.

The guests met at the top of the steps by Wendy offering her admired, broad smile. The four sat on the veranda, which wrapped around each side of the house, the natural spot to eat and drink in suitable weather, augmented by anti-insect gauze. A tray of white wine and beer on the veranda table, to wash down the trail dust and with each a glass in hand, Frank asked for some background on the Walker farm. Wendy reckoned his so-called professorial appearance as a bit eccentric.

How did you come by it and what do you have on it?

Well, Frank, Wendy and I bought it several years ago. This part of the world is called the Upper Hunter and those big hills above, as a geologist you know, is the Great Dividing Range. The rain on this side goes to the coast and on the other to Adelaide, if it doesn’t evaporate first. This rolling, hilly land is ideal for cattle and that is the game we are in.

Frank said, The Tooi, I assume pronounced two-eye, would have a good catchment from the mountains and with a frontage as you do, must be permanent water. Is that so?

That’s how it is, from Matt. It can run very fast, ‘don’t fall in when in flood’ is the call.

In the morning after a quick breakfast, the couples in Frank’s four-wheel drive, picked their way down to the river, most of the tracks now dry. Down through the grey box trees, Matt opening gates, and across the river flat, now with waving, tall green grass, to the stream. The women very much just as keen to see the object in the bank and hear the expert judgement.

Frank, in jeans for the job, peered down through his big lenses at the object protruding from the black basalt earth and stones of which the riverbank consisted. Matt tied a rope around the Geologist’s waist who, in rubber boots, made his way down making small footholds. He looked at the object for some moments, wiped it, scratched it with a small tool and tapped it.

Well, it’s not rock or mineral. First guess is animal bone, possibly a skull and we should have an Archaeologist have a dig around and find out what it is. The depth of material above it suggests it may have been there for a very long time.

I won’t do anything further, not my skills. But I am sure we can enjoy a day with the Walkers and turn up the right expert to come and resolve the puzzle, before another flood.

Returning to the house, Wendy made coffee and Frank paced up and down the veranda, grateful that his mobile phone had reception, making several calls to track down a number for an Archaeologist he believed would be prepared to investigate the find.

Penny, Frank Allerton here, I hope you remember me? A pause, then, Well done, very good memory. I have news… He went on to explain the situation to the woman on the line and after discussion about dates, returned to the coffee table.

That lady is Dr Penny Polenski. Charl and I have known her for years, she’s an Archaeologist at City Museum and bone scratching is her area of work. The deal is that I will bring her to Top Valley in two weeks’ time, so long as that fits with our hosts.

Quite OK with us, we have no plans, Wendy said with enthusiasm. After all, it could be a skull and a human one at that.

Another Friday evening in mild autumn weather and the Top Valley homestead, again ready to welcomed guests which this time the hosts knew, included a distinguished woman, Anthea Shepherd, married to a former Prime Minister.

Frank Allerton’s four-wheel-drive once more pulled up at the Top Valley garden gate to a kelpie hubbub. Wendy Walker, her round face beaming, no jeans for the occasion but, a dress of strong colours, down the steps to meet her guests and her attention taken by the stylish, well-groomed, fair-haired woman, Anthea Shepherd. In her sixties, Wendy reckoned, with poise and a warm smile, a sophisticated woman by any measure.

‘Professor’ Frank, received with a kiss from Wendy, who shook hands with Penny Polenski introduced by Frank. The woman Archaeologist, a no-nonsense person as Wendy soon discovered, a figure indicating a strict, lettuce-leaf diet, short grey hair, jeans and T-shirt, heavy shoes, the image suggesting limited time for fashion. Charl, unmistakable under the bush fire red hair, made up the visiting team.

Wendy guided the group to a table on the veranda, the air cool now, though tolerable. Bottles and glasses there to deal with more trail dust. Matt Walker with the tell-tale wet hair of a quick shower and shave, an evening job for every farmer, entered and offered further greetings.

Hi, Frank, welcome back, and to you too, Charl. You must be Anthea, and hello, Penny. He shook hands with the two women new to him, one stylish and nicely dressed, the other he reckoned, won’t add much to the food bill.

Dinner followed with the guests complimentary about the roast lamb accompanied by a rich pudding, although Penny insisted on sparrow proportions. Wendy itched to ask Anthea Shepherd about her life being married to a once leading politician. As they sipped after-dinner wine, she turned to her guest.

Anthea, we all know of you, of course, but what about your early life and later, in politics?

"Well, I worked in one of the biggest consulting firms, sorting out accounting systems for various companies and Allan Shepherd was employed there too, but on different work. We met and married and Allan found himself being encouraged by the conservative side of politics to stand for a safe seat for Advance Australia.

After some time, he became Deputy Leader and you will remember, they won office with a tax cut paid for by storing the world’s spent uranium fuel rods from power stations, which brought in great revenue. With the sudden death of the PM, Allan became Prime Minister. This man across the table, Frank, was the person who came up with that game-changing proposal to store the fuel rods. That’s how I know the Allertons and find myself here today, as an onlooker.

Anthea paused, then concluded,

Thankfully, we are out of the spotlight with Allan out of politics, now for quite a while.

And a very happy marriage too, would be my opinion, despite all the pressure, Frank put in.

Wendy said, Must have been a washing-machine kind of life, married to a PM.

A most apt description, my dear girl, I am glad to have it behind me.

The