by Di Morrissey
‘Richie’s storing our gear in the four-wheel drive. Are you all packed, ready to go? We want to get away early in the morning. You still sure you want to take your own car?’
Jacqui nodded. ‘It would be fun to travel together, but I really can only stay a day, and if you want to film longer, I’ll need my own car to get back here.’
‘Well then, let’s drive in convoy. Safer that way.’
‘I do actually have an extra passenger,’ said Jacqui.
‘Sure. Who is it?’ Damien asked.
‘A guy called Albie Jackson. I’ve never met him but according to Lydia he’s a nice young bloke. He’s one of the Bardi mob and works up at Cygnet Bay. He’s been down in Broome and loaned his car to a mate who hasn’t brought it back, so he asked Lydia if she knew of anyone heading up the Dampier Peninsula. I’m happy for Albie to ride with me but, as he knows everyone up at Cygnet Bay, I thought you might prefer for him to go with you so you can chat to him on the drive.’
‘Fine by me, but the car’s packed to the rafters with our gear – why don’t I let Richie pick his brain while I drive up with you in your car?’ Damien suggested. ‘Now, shall we meet at six-thirty tomorrow morning?’
*
The dust cloud trailed between their vehicles like a dancing towrope. The red pindan dirt road arrowed to the far horizon along the coast. In the early morning light the silvery grey-green bush and grasses lining the road were covered with a light film of rusty dust.
The pearl farm was only a rough two hundred kilometres north of Broome, but the road had been damaged in the previous wet season and the deep ruts and piles of soft red sand slowed their progress. Jacqui and Damien chatted amiably as they drove, mainly about Damien’s ideas for the TV series. Jacqui would have liked to ask him some more personal questions, but she decided not to as the terrible road needed her full concentration. Instead they just talked idly about general things, so that the tediously slow drive to Cygnet Bay passed pleasantly enough.
Not far from their destination, just past the turn-off to Beagle Bay, Richie’s four-wheel drive suddenly came to an abrupt stop ahead of them and its two occupants got out.
As Jacqui and Damien pulled up behind, they could see Albie and Richie crouched beside the road, looking at something.
‘What is it?’ Jacqui called out. As she came forward she saw that Albie was holding a small animal. ‘What’s that? A cat? A rat? Oh my, how sweet!’
‘It’s a bilby, dozens of them out here. Been injured. I think its leg is broken and it’s got a baby in the pouch,’ said Albie, as he bent over the little animal.
‘Miracle the snakes or birds didn’t get it. Albie spotted it near some grass tufts beside the road,’ said Richie.
‘What’ll we do with her?’ Jacqui gently stroked the grey fur of the large mouse-like creature as it buried its snout into the crook of Albie’s arm.
‘Maybe someone at the farm’s medical clinic can fix her up.’ Albie tucked the frightened bilby gently down the front of his shirt. ‘She’ll be all right, I reckon.’
‘I have water in my car,’ said Jacqui. ‘Do you think the bilby needs it?’
‘Maybe. How about I ride with you the last part, eh?’ said Albie.
‘Why don’t you go with Albie in the four-wheel drive?’ Damien suggested to Jacqui. ‘I don’t mind driving your car the rest of the way on this awful road. It might take two of you to help her.’
The two cars continued along the road, Damien taking the lead this time. The temperature was rising and the sky was a blue so bright that it almost hurt Jacqui’s eyes to look at it.
‘Lydia said you grew up at Cygnet Bay,’ said Jacqui to the engaging Aboriginal man, who she guessed was in his mid-thirties. ‘You must know this road pretty well.’
‘I do now! When I was a kid, we never came down it much till I had to go to high school. Then I stayed with my aunties in Broome. James went down south to a posh boarding school. We both had a lot of catching up to do,’ he said with a grin. ‘Me and James, we only did a bit of schooling before then. We fished, got mud crabs, messed around and helped out a bit with the pearl shell and the boats. Never wore shoes. It was magic, even if we didn’t do much book learning,’ he added.
‘Yes. I expect that lifestyle would suit young boys,’ Jacqui replied.
‘Well, both kinds of learning turned out to be useful, ’cause now James is running the whole show. His family started the pearl farm and James has built it up so it caters for tourists as well. Richie said him an’ Damien are going to film the place. I’ve been telling him all ’bout it. They’re going to interview the boss. Too bad James’ grandfather isn’t around, he must’ve been a big storyteller,’ said Albie enthusiastically.
*
Finally, after more than six hours of very uncomfortable driving, Damien turned Jacqui’s car onto another road towards Cygnet Bay. Richie and the others followed in the four-wheel drive. As they wove through the paperbark trees, Albie told Jacqui how the Brown family came to be at Cygnet Bay.
‘James’ granddad, old Dean, worked in Roebourne, up in the Pilbara, after the war. Then he worked in Kuri Bay, then he come here. Not too many people know that Aussie pearling started with a white croc hunter and two black mates, but that’s what happened.’ Albie laughed happily.
‘How was that?’ asked Jacqui. This was all news to her. ‘I thought it was Lily Barton’s grandfather, the Irish pearling master, who teamed up with Mr Mikimoto and started pearling up at Kuri Bay?’
‘True thing. The Japanese were growing pearls in this area all right, but there weren’t no Aussies doing it until one of old Mr Dean’s sons, Lyndon, started to do some experimenting of his own and figured out how it was done. Him and his blackfella mates knew that the Japanese technicians opened up a little bit of them big Kimberley oysters and put a bit of shell or something inside and then put ’em back in the sea to make a pearl . . . James can talk about his family for hours. He owns that one story for sure. But I tell ya, old Mr Dean, he wouldn’t know the place now, I reckon.’
‘Here we are,’ said Richie, as they pulled into the farm. ‘How’s that bilby mum doing, mate?’
‘She’s sleeping,’ Albie replied. ‘Jan, the nurse, she’ll fix up this leg. Needs a little splint.’ Albie patted the bulge under his shirt and gave Jacqui a thumbs up. ‘She’ll be just fine. Little one, too. I’m going t’make a place for her till she can go back in the bush. I’ll go and find Jan and then show you round a bit.’
*
While the setting was rustic, the scenery looking across the turquoise water of the bay was stunning. Clustered along the shore and among the trees were machinery sheds, which Albie, who joined them about ten minutes later, explained held boats and other equipment like ropes, floats, panels and radar buoys. There were also storage sheds and mechanical workshops for both the small and large marine vessels the Browns used, as well as four-wheel drives and other vehicles. Other buildings held the pearl hatcheries, with their tanks used to spawn and cultivate baby pearl shell. There were also algal labs to grow feed for them. In the seeding and operational sheds, which were land based and not located on an expensive mother ship like they were in some companies, were the shell tanks, operating tables, benches to de-panel and re-panel the shell, and tubs to tumble and wash the shell and sort the mother of pearl. And everywhere stood forty-four-gallon drums for packing and transporting the shell. Further away were the sheds which held the generators, which were humming gently as they kept the operation running.
For staff and visitors there was a communal area, comfortable safari-style tents and accommodation cabins clustered among trees along the sienna and red shoreline which edged the dazzling waters of the huge bay. In the distance, the work and dive boats looked to Jacqui like dark anonymous dots.
‘Lots of visitors now that James has opened this tourist camp,’ Albie explained. ‘Some of
the visitors, them grey nomads driving all the way round Australia, stay here. Overseas tourists, too. Some stay overnight. Some stay a long time. Guess they like mud crabbing. Good place just to chill out.’
‘It all looks pretty laid-back,’ agreed Jacqui.
‘The family’s probably over in the work sheds,’ said Albie.
As he led the way along a shady shale path, Damien paused as they passed several boats pulled up on slips on the muddy edge of the bay.
‘Wow, that’s a great-looking catamaran.’ Damien studied the triple sail, fibreglass, twin-hulled boat, which had the letters DMB printed on one side. ‘Looks as stable as a table. What does “DMB” stand for?’
‘Yeah, steady as a rock. It’s named after James’ grandfather, Dean Murdoch Brown. James’ dad wanted a good work boat. Few years back, no one was using it any more, and James’ mate Steve come along and buy it after he got outta pearling, ’cause a cyclone buggered up his good boat. Steve uses it for special tourism expeditions now.’
‘Is there anything you don’t know about this area, Albie? You seem to know a lot,’ said Jacqui appreciatively.
‘When you live up here, you learn a little bit of story here, little bit there. Everyone’s story overlaps, one way or another. But it’s all one big story in the Kimberley. Like a jigsaw puzzle, eh? We all fit together.’
Jacqui was thoughtful. ‘Seems everyone has a connection, a history, a story, if they’re born here or lived here a long time,’ she said to Damien. ‘Makes me feel a bit stateless. I’ve lived in a lot of places. To have such a strong sense of belonging . . . it must be special.’
‘I think it’s because we can move anywhere with no sense of cutting ties,’ said Richie. ‘Aboriginal people are different. They have a real thing about being connected to their land. Hard to understand, but it’s real. That’s for sure.’
Albie looked at them all. ‘It’s country, man. Got to know your country. We been here sixty thousand years.’ He chuckled. Just then a smiling, slim woman with silvery-blonde hair and a ready smile waved to them.
‘Hello, hello, come on in. Hello, Jacqui. I know about you from your bookshop.’ She held out her hands to them. ‘I’m Alison, James’ mother. Why don’t you all come out on the verandah? James is waiting. There’s a nice breeze out there.’
‘No thanks, Mrs Brown. I’ll want to get my things out of the four-wheel drive, then check on the bilby, if you don’t mind,’ said Albie. ‘See you all later.’ He smiled cheerfully at everyone and disappeared into the trees.
Sitting with cool drinks, James and Damien immediately struck up a connection and Richie nodded enthusiastically as they all talked. Jacqui watched as James, a good-looking man in his thirties with cropped dark hair and warm brown eyes, spoke passionately about his family’s achievements and his plans for the future.
‘This is just an amazing place,’ Jacqui managed to say between the ideas bouncing back and forth as the three men discussed what the best things to film would be.
James turned to Jacqui. ‘You know what I love? That my kids are having the same kind of childhood I had.’ He waved his arm towards the bay. ‘Running around barefoot, swimming, fishing, taking the little boat up the creeks crabbing.’
‘And living in a lot more style and comfort than you did,’ laughed his mother. ‘This is all utter luxury compared to how it was when Bruce – Lyndon’s brother – brought me here as a bride,’ she said to Jacqui.
‘Were you shocked when you first arrived?’ asked Jacqui curiously.
‘Well, surprised. I’d never been further north than Geraldton. So, newly married, we flew into Broome and it was January and so hot. I think you could have fried an egg on the top of our car. We drove for hours and hours on this rough red dirt road. When we stopped for a cuppa out of the thermos and I asked Bruce if we were nearly there, he looked at me as though I was telling a joke and told me that we were only halfway! I couldn’t believe it. I thought he was bringing me to the ends of the earth. It was dark when we got here. But I’ll never forget walking through the paperbark trees, such a pretty little track.’
‘It still is,’ said Jacqui warmly.
‘Yes, it is. And I couldn’t get over seeing all these little flickering campfires along the beach. It was magic. That was where the Bardi people were camped. I thought it all so pretty; it remains a lovely memory of my first sight of Cygnet Bay. And we had a fantastic wet season that year, spectacular storms and rain, just stunning. The lightning was like a fireworks display every night.’ She paused. ‘Later I came to learn that the “magic” of those campfires was in fact a sad tale of displacement for the Bardi-Jawi people, as their mission on Sunday Island had been closed. I saw the magic but now understand the full implications.’ She gave a small shrug. ‘We started out in a little candle-lit paperbark shack where we lived for the next six years until we moved into a normal house with glass windows. It was then I realised the benefits of the bark hut. No glass so no windows to clean, and in the wet season, unlike the paperbark walls, the walls of the new house would go mouldy! I rather missed the old shack.’
‘Can you tell me about the boats?’ asked Damien.
‘When the Browns first started up they used two old luggers,’ explained Alison. ‘But it took two months to get those wooden boats ready for the season because they had to be caulked every year. So Bruce researched designs more suited to pearling, especially with our big tides. That’s when we had the fibreglass cat built. It made such a difference. To this day the divers maintain it was one of the best boats to dive from. It also meant we could go further afield to Eighty Mile Beach in search of shell.’
‘Yes, we saw that boat down at the bay,’ Richie said.
‘Good, she’s such a great craft,’ said Alison. ‘When we stopped diving because we had our quota of wild shell fished, seeded and delivered, we had no need of a diving boat of our own for wild shell collection. I’m so glad that Steve put it to good use again.’
‘Interesting how people up here stay connected,’ said Jacqui.
‘In the early days we were all in it together. As you can see, it’s remote, but it was even more so back then. No phone, no mail run, not even a radio in the beginning. Dean started out with indentured Malays but found it much better to work with the local Bardi families. They’ve stuck with us for years. But it really was a struggle in those early days. Still, when they started harvesting good cultured round pearls in the early seventies, things really changed. It was only a couple of years later that we paid off the bank loan! Now that was a celebration.’
‘Not a lot of women would have stuck it out up here,’ said Jacqui admiringly. Alison still radiated energy and good humour.
‘I loved it. I was young and healthy, we were all involved and hands-on, and we had no children for the first few years. Pearling is so intriguing. Though I find the pearl shell more fascinating than the pearls,’ she added. ‘The shells lie camouflaged in the mud and then you open them and there’s that gleaming, iridescent pearl shell with its own inner light. It looks alive the way it shimmers. For the local people it symbolises water, life, rain.’
‘So pearling has never lost its magic for you,’ said Jacqui. ‘You must be proud of James and what he’s doing.’
‘Oh yes, we are. We didn’t know whether he would want to take it on, but he eventually went to James Cook University to study tropical marine biology. When he came back to Cygnet Bay, he had his own ideas and dragged us into the new century, didn’t you, James?’
She paused and looked out to the blue waters of the bay. ‘Mind you, it hasn’t always been plain sailing. We had our setbacks. But we have been lucky. Quite a few pearling companies didn’t survive the Great Financial Crisis of ’08.’
Alison got to her feet and pointed out to the calm waters stretching to the horizon past the arms of the bay. ‘Our survival depends on that pristine water, and James constantly mo
nitors its health. Of course, nowadays, Indonesia, China and Hawaii are producing pearls at cheaper prices, but nothing comes close to the size, quality or lustre of the pearls produced in the bay.’
‘It looks so peaceful out there,’ said Jacqui.
‘Yes, doesn’t it? You’d never know there’s a small fortune hanging in the water there, just waiting to be winched up,’ Alison replied.
There was a moment of silence, and then Alison laughed and said, ‘Now, enough about us. I sound like a tour guide. I even sound like James!’
Jacqui smiled. ‘Don’t worry, I love hearing about it.’
Alison smiled. ‘Why don’t we take a walk along the beach.’
Later, after dinner, Damien talked with Richie and James to work out the logistics of filming the operation.
‘Okay, it’s agreed then. As usual, an early morning start,’ said Damien with a grin.
‘You do like those sunrises!’ said Jacqui.
James stretched. ‘Right, let me show you to your quarters. My father should be back up here by tomorrow evening. He’s flying in from Perth where he and Mum now live, though they come to visit the farm a lot.’
‘I can’t wait to meet Bruce,’ said Damien.
‘I’ll have to head back to Broome tomorrow,’ said Jacqui. ‘It’s such a shame as I’d enjoy staying longer, but I told Sylvia I’d be back. This has been just the most fascinating experience.’
‘I’ll walk you all to your cabins,’ said James.
Fifteen minutes later, just as she was about to get into bed, although it was barely nine-thirty, Jacqui was surprised by Alison turning up with a tea tray and two mugs beside a teapot.
‘I thought you might like a cup of tea. All the staff have turned in for the night, so I had to bring it down myself. Not sure if you wanted honey with your tea.’
‘No thanks, but this is kind of you,’ said Jacqui.
‘I love this time of day as everyone settles down,’ said Alison. ‘James is strict about everyone keeping sensible hours because this can be a dangerous place and the last thing we need is an accident. Besides, we always turn the generator off at ten to save fuel. There’s a battery lantern beside your bed in case you want to read.’
