Despite being almost an academic, Peter wasn’t about to leap to the defence of the higher education system. From up close he’d seen too many problems to justify the blanket assurance of quality. It was also apparent from Wally’s slightly hunched demeanor that this topic bit deep. However he did see a chink. “Engineering, I say that would have been fascinating! I always felt we didn’t get enough trades skills at school. At one stage I wanted to be an engineer like my great grandfather.”
That peaked Wally’s interest, and at the same time steered away from the dangerous ground of universities. He perked up a bit in curiosity. “What, you had an engineer in the family?”
“Wally, not just an engineer, but a Scottish ship’s engineer!” That, as far as he was concerned, was a matter of some pride. As everyone knew, Scottish engineers were the leaders of the Industrial Age in ship technology. After all why else make frequent allusions to having ‘Scotty’ as chief of the engine room on Captain Kirks’ Enterprise.
“Ya don’t say. Was he diesel or steam?” Now the conversation progressed into the specifics, the hierarchy of engineering.
“I still have his old technical books and a couple of his testing gauges. It’s all steam. From the family history, they say he sailed on the Mauritania’s maiden voyage. It’s the sister ship of the Lusitania.”
“D’ya know if he ever came out to Australia?”
“According to my great aunt, he was on one of the troop vessels for the Aussies, which went to Egypt in the First World War.”
“No kidding. My great uncle was in the first AIF. Still got his letters from when he landed in Alexandria.” To say Wally was beaming would have been an understatement. Peter had always found that once you searched, you could come up with the most amazing threads linking people across distance and time. He supposed that was one of the fascinating things he loved about history. Apart from that, it looked like he’d passed the test. Wally had that speculative gleam, like the one he used to get from old Bartleby weighing and measuring him. “Pete, do ya know anything about prehistory?”
“Sorry Wally. My main field is medieval but I’ve helped excavate at a few Pleistocene sites in Devon. They dug up some interesting pieces like mammoth bones and flint tools.” Peter shrugged and spread his hands. “Its an intriguing field but I fear that life is short and a wise man must limit his interests or he’ll know nothing about everything.”
Wally gave a deep chuckle and shook his head. “Well put Pete, well put. Look mate, ya want to hang around for a bit of tucker, my partner Sarina does a great marinara. She should be back in a mo. I’ve got a few pieces you might like to see.”
Peter shrugged and smiled, sure why not? Sid wasn’t here yet and Lampie was probably busy. It wasn’t as if he had anything else pressing to do and Wally appeared to be an interesting chap – with a great taste in ales no less. Peter was waved over to a chair by the plasma screen with one more ginger beer in hand.
Wally fiddled with a laptop beside the screen then sat across the table from him. “Have you done any early Australian history, Peter?” Wally had a curiously intense presence almost vibrating.
“Sorry Wally, I am an ignorant Brit. I know Captain Cook and Lampie mentioned something about an English pirate called Dampier on the flight. That’s it.” He really didn’t like admitting abysmal ignorance of what, to the Aussies must be a deeply felt history, but truth would out.
“What about the older history not that modern stuff, real aboriginal history?” Ahh, now he had been aware of the current feelings on that over on the east coast thanks to Freddie. How was he going to phrase his answer? Both sides of the discussion appeared to be well entrenched.
“Not a lot Wally, though I do know your aboriginals got here before the glaciers retreated from Britain.” Nice safe neutral answer.
It seemed to satisfy Wally. He flicked a few buttons on a remote and the screen flickered into life. “Ya right there Peter. The Koori’s call it the Dreamtime and it extends way back. Have look at these.”
A series of images flashed up on the screen. The first one was of a large outlined figure in white with circular dark eyes and a halo of red brown around the head. The next several shots were similar, along with a few of what must be kangaroos and other animals as well as a pretty good depiction of a crocodile. The artist had done a particularly good job with the scales. The shots continued to scroll along and Peter gained the impression that rock art was for Wally a passion. No problems – he understood the drive of passions.
The final one in the set was of a line of twenty white figures, painted on a long rock wall below a projecting shelf. From the photos, it must have pushed twenty yards in length. Visually it was impressive and whoever painted them intended it as a statement of belief or representation like a fresco or a mosaic in his own culture.
“Okay, those were all from around here in the Kimberleys, in caves, on sheltered recesses, everywhere. A couple are even from the cliffs on Raft Point over there. If Sid gives ya a chance, I’ll take you up tomorrow morning.” Wally waved towards the shore. “They’re called by the local tribal name Wandijani, who claim them as ancestor paintings. As far as experts can tell, they go back well past twenty thousand years, possibly more.”
Peter was impressed. He knew the aboriginals had been here a while, but he hadn’t really got around to considering how long that was. A fragment of his own region’s prehistory kicked in. A decade ago the Palaeolithic community of Europe got all hot and bothered when a team of cave explorers found over three hundred animal figures in a cave in Ardeche in southern France. Those had been dated to 30,000 years. The news had been full of it and the champagne corks had popped for weeks in the Prehistory faculty over that major discovery, pushing back the date of European art. Wally had just shown him twenty minutes of shots displaying acres of comparable art that was just sitting around, as it were. Wow!
Once more Wally smiled and nodded, pleased at the reception to this slide show. “Now I’m goin’ to show you another set of shots.”
So the show resumed. This time the pictures were startlingly different. The human figures were thinner, leaner, more realistic, some frozen in the act of hunting or using a boomerang. All of them displayed intricate depictions of ornate headdresses, or braiding along with decorated clothing and the final five appeared to be figures in a canoe, paddling. All were stunningly beautiful and unlike any form of art Peter had seen before. The colours were predominately black and red with fine outlines.
“Wally those are incredible! Where are they from?”
“Yeah, I kinda like ‘em. They’re also from the Kimberleys. Some of them in later shots have the Wandijani figures painted over them. They’re called Bradshaw or Gwion gwion paintings. Ya want the real kicker that blows most people away?”
Peter was intrigued by the first and second set of shots so he gave a simple nod.
“Some bloke called Walsh dated a fossilised mudwasp nest overlaying one of the Bradshaw images and found it was older than seventeen thousand years. Those paintings are so ancient that the colour had migrated into the rock’s crystal structure.”
This wasn’t Peter’s field and in fact way, way, way predated it. However he was a historian and these images struck a chord. If the figures were already ancient long before the prehistoric wasps, that raised a couple of questions. “I take it then Wally, from all these photos, you’re pretty keen on this, ahh Bradshaw…culture?”
“Yeah its my hobby. We’ve all got one: Sarina loves fishing and diving; May Ling’s into birds; me I like tinkering with engines and looking for Bradshaw’s. So to keep everyone happy we bought this old raft. Shipping stuff and carting tourists around keeps us in food and fuel.”
Wally was about to lead onto something else Bradshaw related when they had an interruption. “Hey Wall, you fixed the gas ring? Oh excuse me. Didn’t know we had visitors.”
Peter swivelled around to take in the new arrival. She was wet and worth looking at, standing at medium height
with a tanned olive complexion. His guess at age put her somewhere between thirty and forty – the active lifestyle in Australia always made it difficult for him to tell ages accurately. She had been walking in from the bow and was in the middle of shrugging out of a wetsuit, revealing a well moulded swimsuit. No doubt the recent swimming explained the slick raven black hair trailing over her shoulder, as well as the two fish in her right hand.
Peter immediately stood up and gave a half bow in greeting. It didn’t take any guessing to tell with a fine nose and deep brown eyes, the newcomer was of Mediterranean extraction, possibly Italian.
“Peter, meet my partner, Sarina. Hon, Lampie’s back from Derby and dropped this fella off, while she finds Sid. So we got another one for dinner, and yes I fixed the stove, no problems.”
Sarina flicked a glance towards the Bradshaw figure on the Plasma screen and gave a welcoming smile, then shook her head. “Well we’re going to have to reward you with a meal since you’re suffering through one of Wall’s lectures.”
Peter was pretty sure it was just gentle teasing but Wally had impressed him. “This isn’t what I would call suffering. I’m a historian so anything like this is fascinating. Wally should be commended for his efforts.” He was firing on all cylinders today.
Sarina’s smile broadened to a happy glow that reached her eyes. “I hope you like Marinara, Peter.”
“Peter, Peter Wilks, historian at your service, and yes I just adore any Mediterranean style seafood, so much tastier than English battered fish.” That was of course if you could identify those standard sized rectangular lumps. Peter wasn’t a fool. Anyone who went out and grabbed their own fish for a meal deserved as many compliments as could be spun out.
The evening dinner and company was a sparkling welcome to the Kimberleys, delightful Seafood Marinara, more Matsos ginger beer and Wally’s two companions or partners Sarina and May Ling. It was even enough to sooth Lampie’s ill humour when she came aboard. Sid and the rest of the company had failed to turn up. Not that Peter was complaining with three attractive girls and the riotous tales of Wally, he could definitely wait until later to see his old Canberra friend again.
Towards the end of the evening Wally leant across while all the girls were having a chat. “Peter mate, could you do me a favour?”
Peter was only slightly buzzed from the ginger beer and the pleasant company but he did notice Wally’s suddenly more serious demeanour. He wouldn’t usually volunteer, sight unseen as it where, but some instinct twigged him that this was important.
“Certainly Wally, what is it?”
“I don’t know where Sid’s expedition is heading or what it’s after, but I would appreciate it if ya could do a couple of tasks for me?”
Peter still had only the sketchiest idea of just what Sid wanted him to do exactly, just that Sid reckoned he needed some skill or resource Peter possessed and was prepared to pay for it. “Ummh. Maybe Wally.”
“If you see any rock art, especially Bradshaws, can ya take some shots and make a note where they are for me?” Peter was taken aback, that was a really nice favour to ask. Damn, he was getting too suspicious since being at Skaze!
“Sure Wally. That would be fascinating. Oh you said two favours. What’s the other one?” He felt really chuffed that Wally would ask him to do some research fieldwork.
The rock art researcher acquired a very heavy frown for a few moments as he bent closer still. Peter quickly ratcheted through any social faux pas, he may have inadvertently committed this evening. Ogling Sarina, well who wouldn’t. Watching a swaying May Ling during the dance, well he wasn’t dead from the waist down! It turned out to be neither of these.
“Look after Lampie for us will ya. Sid can be a real drongo sometimes.”
“Wally that would be a pleasure.” Giving a quick glance at his blonde tour guide, Peter smiled. That was one task he would definitely look forward to.
Chapter 9 Don’t Piss off the Pilot
The day could have had a better start. Freakin’ hell, it should have had a better start. Any more stuffing around and she’d push Sid over the side! Sharks, salties and sea snakes be damned!
Two bloody hours waiting around after the turn of the tide and no Sid!
No Sid!
No Bluey!
No Rob!
And no Uncle Bill!
She excised the last name from the list. Uncle Bill couldn’t help the fact that the rest of them got tighter then a fish’s sphincter. He’d sworn off years ago and couldn’t be blamed for the other’s stupidity. It was Sid – he’d pulled himself aboard with that soppy grin of his and rolled out a string of apologies. Bloody hell what did he think she was? His girlfriend yurchh! She may love Elaine like a sister, but damned if she was going to get treated like one, and have to ‘den mother’ that boozy boyfriend of hers. She silently ground her teeth. The first one staggering up the ladder was poor enough, the fact that it was their bloody leader made it worse. Then to be followed by those other two grrrrrrh! At least they had the smarts to look sheepish. How Sid could show pride at such a balls up defied logic. And surprise, surprise – in the two days she’d been gone, hardly any of the usual chores were dealt with. What was this a bloody holiday? No freckin way! Give her one more incident and she’d cheerfully maroon Sid on a crab infested rock and wait for high tide!
Lampie had only one consolation. Last night without Sid had been a lot of fun. Well honestly, any evening spent with May Ling, Sarina and Wally was always fun. That story of Wally’s about the really stupid metal fab student, the one who spent an hour removing the guards on the sheet metal shears so the he could prove to his mates that he could trim his finger nails with his feet. Freckin’ hell how could he walk and breath at the same time – talk about shallow end of the gene pool. Stupid! Though that didn’t quite compare with May Ling’s tale of the senior researcher who, while trying to explain why you didn’t ignite flour dust to a crowd of visiting students, did. Brains apparently didn’t make you immune to gut wrenchingly stupid actions. Peter’s contribution was the site supervisor who in hammering home the importance of safety on the dig site by staking and roping off a crumbly section of a slope slipped on the poles and broke his leg when he collided with the warning sign.
Now it was interesting that she came so suddenly to Peter Wilks. Not that he was the life and soul of the party no, not really, you couldn’t call him that. Unlike others she could easily name, all the currents of the evening did not have to revolve around him. He was different, perhaps even a gentleman as he had claimed, though she was still trying to figure out how that equated to his dryly sardonic rendition of the blue bucket in the Catalina incident, interspersed by a very good copy of her travelogue. Perhaps that one could be chalked up to the ginger beer. She gave a sigh. Why did this site have to be so complicated? They found it, dug it up, she mapped it and sketched it, and they send the report off. Simple easy and quick. Why did Sid decide to be so secretive and complicated? What was he on about? Jeez he’d come close to braining Bluey and then all that arranging with Trussie and Wally. Airfreight costs mount up almost faster than you could count. Now this needless waste of time and tide, all to get over a ‘beach party’!
Sure they needed the gear, but Lampie kept on thinking about their most recent meeting with the museum. The resource manager had been unhappy with Sid’s accounting for the last set of site reports. He’d sat there frowning, tapping the desk with his podgy fingers, and took a leisurely meander through the costs cent by cent. Sid may have thought it a breeze and a cool day’s entertainment. She’d been terrified. They passed every item ticked off, and she should have been easy. However, that was the word, ‘however’ – it eased over the ready acceptance and halted thoughts. ‘However’. Lampie was beginning to feel that her continued partnership with Sid was gaining a surfeit of howevers.
There was another reason she was pissed off and Sid wouldn’t understand that one either. Due to the ‘delay’, Bast had lost the first surge of the tide
and couple that with the general hungoverness of the crew and catching the morning southerlies was a lost cause. It was true that Peter had displayed a willingness to help, but the Pom was an unknown quantity and it was safer to switch on the motor and forgo the sails. That galled her. An hour in and the wind had picked up and this lot were still useless!
Another ‘however’ slipped gently in, this one concerning the view she currently had of two old friends meeting after several years apart. However it wasn’t like the usual hugs and kisses or the blokey version, grin at each other, cry a simple greeting, crack a wry joke, insult each other and grab a forearm then wallop a shoulder. No, it was not like that in the least. The encounter brought other images to mind, two wary toms circling, backs arched, fur fluffed up like a toilet brush, could be a closer description or maybe a pair of male salties sorting territorial boundaries. Up here in the Kimberleys she‘d seen a fair amount of life from saintly to seamy. Working with Sid had extended that even more than you’d think, though probably not in the virtuous direction. In all that, human nature had tended to be pretty straight forward to understand, usually linked with money (not enough), sex (definitely not enough) or standing (never enough). Right now Lampie was trying to figure out how one or more fit in with a couple of Sid related issues that she could see in front of her. It would probably help to break them down.
First there was the wary greeting. Sid had tried for a manly hug but Peter had pre-empted that by quickly thrusting his hand forward. Left with no option, Sid put on a wry grin and shook it with gusto. From the pained expression on Peter’s face, round one must have gone to Sid. The next obligatory stage was the catching up. Well she could easily see Sid was being expansive and the odd word drifted back, like the Calliance, a wreck they’d resurveyed for the museum. Not a lot left after a hundred and fifty years of storm and wave along with salvagers. Peter stood with his arms crossed, nodding, but he wasn’t smiling, more like tight faced. Sid’s list wasn’t making much of an impression. Now Sid tried the comradely approach and moved closer, putting a friendly arm around Peter’s shoulders, not a good idea. Lampie had been to Britain briefly and they weren’t into that kind of intimacy so readily in a conversation. She was tempted to walk forward and intervene, but the steering came first.
Terra Australis Templar (A Peter Wilks Archaeological Mystery) Page 12
