by Ray Smithies
‘Getting back to the reason for our visit, do you know if there were many articles written on the subterranean passageways?’ I prompted, to get Collins back on track.
‘I don’t know the exact number but it would be heaps, perhaps somewhere between thirty and fifty editorials. I’ve only ever read a handful of them,’ Collins confessed.
‘Of those you’ve read, what’s been the general trend of the articles?’
‘Throughout the years it’s always been the policy of the Advertiser to treat this subject with a degree of scepticism, but also with enough information to tantalise the reader into believing there may be a hint of fact. As I said, many articles have been written and to the best of my knowledge no one has come forth with any proof.’
‘Can we commence with our research?’ At this rate we would never get to archives.
‘Sure, but what makes you believe there could be some truth behind all this?’ The reporter gestured for us to follow him through to the rear building.
‘We never stated that at all. We’re just here to satisfy a curiosity, or as someone once said, resolve and put to bed.’
‘Then why would you go to all this trouble if you believe otherwise?’
‘You are the curious one. First let’s see what we can uncover and if there’s any worthwhile discovery, we’ll let you know,’ I offered to counteract the reporter’s barrage of questions.
Collins led us into a chamber of around fifteen metres square. It was, a fairly depressing room, with four unpainted concrete walls, a row of high windows running down one side and a single metal door located at the far end corner. The air was cold and there didn’t appear to be any heating facility to make our research conditions a tad more comfortable. Numerous boxes labelled with their respective year were placed five high along one wall and I could see that at least the dates ran in some sequential order. A central, long table complete with adequate lighting and what appeared to be a couple of weird-looking computer terminals were conveniently placed at either end.
Ashley Collins then gave us a quick rundown of the facility. ‘This room we stand in contains archives dating back to the year 1950. A second area of similar size is located through the corner door, where you’ll find material predating these immediate records. I encourage you to conduct your research by way of the microfiche readers, the third unit being in the back room. Try to avoid handling the newspapers wherever possible,’ he instructed.
‘Any chance of some heating? I’m going to end up with pneumonia at this rate,’ Arthur said.
At eighty-five years old, I knew Arthur probably felt every goose-bump in his aging body.
‘I’ll fetch a couple of bar heaters for you shortly.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Are you familiar with microfiche cards?’ asked Collins.
Both Hamish and I instantaneously responded with a quick no, but Arthur informed the reporter he had used the system once before in a city museum.
‘Will this little runt you call a micro fish take long to learn?’ Hamish was a bit confused with the word.
‘About five to ten minutes, so I’ll give you a quick lesson.’ Collins reached for a sample card and switched on the reader. ‘Microfiche are plastic cards on which photographic images are placed. Depending on the size of the newspaper, which the Advertiser downsized around forty years ago, each card will hold from one hundred to one hundred and thirty pages of text. We then place the card into the microfiche reader, which magnifies the image back to its original size and projects this onto the screen.’
‘Seems easy enough, even for an ignoramus like me,’ declared Hamish with a short laugh.
‘Every microfiche will feature the full dates of each newspaper contained within its respective card, meaning it will have a start and finish date, which is highlighted on a yellow strip across the top. With the three of you looking, I suggest you each handle a decade of time to speed up things.’
‘Thanks, Ashley,’ I said.
‘Okay, I must get back to work now but I’ll drop in now and again to see how you’re progressing.’
With the reporter gone I delegated Arthur to his much-loved earlier editions in the back room. Hamish and I would commence with the fifties and sixties decades and work forever forward in time. It was approaching 2.30 pm and we only had three hours to complete the task.
~ * ~
I had been scrolling through these endless pages for some fifteen minutes when suddenly my first underground article appeared on screen. Titled ‘Subterranean Passageways - Fact or Fiction?’ the paper was dated 17 October 1953 and I confess my excited reaction was almost childlike. Much to my disappointment, the column was overly biased in ridiculing the believers and offered no strong argument. It was purely an attempt to discredit any possible truth. The headline implied an impartial article, but it was nothing short of deplorable journalism. I soldiered on with my scrolling, only to hear Hamish giggling from the far end of the table. ‘What are you laughing about?’
‘Found a funny bit from a section called “Odd Spot”. Listen to this,’ said Hamish. ‘ “A man whose wristwatch had stopped was standing on the steps of Farrington Street Station. Worried he might miss his train, he turned to a middle-aged woman beside him and asked, ‘Madam, do you have the time?’ She slapped his face and replied, ‘Certainly not, I’m a married woman!’ The man glared at her as if she was some nutcase.” ‘
I shared the laugh but immediately got back to the business of finding further articles. More scrolling and I was beginning to feel like a victim of RSI with this constant card changing.
A report dated 4 April 1957 offered very little except to suggest that convict labour was brought to Pedley early last century to help speed up the governor’s building programs, including the erection of a prison house. A further article some twelve months later headlined ‘Mass Graves - Turn of the Century’ made reference to a typhoid plague whereby prisoners and free folk alike were buried together, the location of which was kept from the public. This column was encouraging for it supported Arthur’s claims from earlier discussions.
Again I could hear Hamish was up to his old tricks as he sniggered away at some report which had tickled his fancy.
‘What are you up to now?’ I said.
‘Here’s a juicy bit back in 1967. “Hippies invade Pedley, offering free love to the locals in exchange for grog and hot showers.” ‘
‘You’re bloody hopeless, Hamish. For God’s sake, get your mind out of the gutter,’ I said, grinning at this mass of ginger hair sitting at the far end of the table.
‘Tom, I can’t find anything on the underground, only these dirty bits,’ he insisted.
‘I’ll see what Arthur’s up to,’ I said, resigned to the fact that my Irish friend was more interested in finding jokes and juicy bits.
By contrast Arthur appeared to be a picture of concentration. The old-timer had written down some notes beside his microfiche reader, which implied he had stumbled across something.
‘Found something, Arthur?’
‘Not much, Tom. I found an article about someone claiming the network to be genuine, but it turned out to be a hoax in a later edition. There was a further story about two people finding some convict relics which were proven to be authentic, but unfortunately the artifacts were verified in having been discovered elsewhere. On the positive side I came across a crudely drawn map of Pedley dated twenty-third of June 1915. There’s not much detail, but I would at least get Ashley Collins to run us a copy.’
‘Better than nothing.’
‘What about you and Hamish?’
‘I came across two reports of reasonable importance. One touched on the typhoid plague and an unknown mass burial site and the other made reference to convict labour building a jail somewhere in Pedley. Both accounts support your story.’
‘And Hamish?’
‘Only jokes and juicy bits, nothing of substance,’ I replied, and Arthur raised his eyebrows.
‘Tom, you
realise we won’t get through all this today, there’s just so much to cover,’ he groaned.
‘I’m aware of that. We’ll arrange for a further appointment later in the week. I better get back to my mad Irishman now. Keep at it, Arthur, we’re bound to find something sooner or later,’ I encouraged.
On my return Hamish appeared heavily engrossed with some article he had stumbled across. Scrolling down the reader screen, he continued to be thoroughly absorbed in its contents. Without warning he let out a raucous laugh.
‘Well, if that doesn’t beat all!’
‘Okay, what have you found this time?’
‘What a bloody idiot! This guy has gone to the authorities claiming he’s located the entrance to the underground network. When the site was checked out it was found to be only a disused well. The man was fined for wasting everybody’s time and has since been locked away for disturbing the peace,’ explained Hamish with an infectious smile.
I had now progressed to the seventies in hope that something more tangible could be unearthed. With each newspaper article came the disappointment of further unsupported claims. Two separate columns depicting Pedley as the laughing stock of historians were particularly annoying. This type of satirical reporting did nothing to inspire the person genuinely interested in exploring the possibilities. Three more articles emphasised the need to address current local issues and not dwell on some mythical relic that was incapable of resurrecting itself. It was all becoming so inequitably repetitive that I was beginning to think it was a waste of time.
Suddenly from the back room came the sound of Arthur’s excited voice.
‘I think I’ve found something!’ he called jubilantly.
‘Coming!’ I gestured to Hamish to join us. Were our efforts over these past two hours finally going to be rewarded?
Arthur had left the image on the screen and we leaned forward to examine this breakthrough.
‘But it’s in a bloody foreign language, Arthur!’ remonstrated Hamish.
‘How in the hell is this going to help us?’ I said.
‘Hang on a moment. You’re jumping the gun, the pair of you! The text is in German, which fortunately is something I can read,’ claimed Arthur.
‘How do you know German?’ I asked.
‘I married one and spent five years in the Fatherland. A post-war engineering opportunity was too good to ignore.’
‘You are full of surprises, Arthur.’
‘Back to the microfiche card. This particular edition is dated fourteenth of August 1935. The Great Depression of the thirties was particularly bad in Europe and it brought an influx of immigrants to Australia from various countries in search of a new life. It could be said that Hitler’s uprising contributed to this trend, but in the main the Depression probably held sway. A number of German migrants settled in the Pedley region, and as a result this newspaper column was launched to serve these people. The headline in this column nearly made me fall off my chair.’
Peering over Arthur’s shoulder to take a closer look, I was none the wiser as to what all the excitement was over.
Unterirdischer Korridor - Dreiseitiger Stern
‘Could you please translate it?’ I asked Arthur.
‘There’s been the use of multiple dialects, but in a nutshell it basically reads, “Subterranean passageways - submerged three-pointed star.” This is a major discovery, my friends,’ replied a beaming Arthur Simpson.
‘In what way?’ I was still confused by Arthur’s theatrics.
‘Sorry, Tom, I momentarily forgot. It was the police who were told and not yourself.’
‘Told about what?’
‘Let me explain,’ said Arthur. ‘I was interviewed by Forbes, amongst others, with regards to the underground network. Throughout this so-called interrogation they were persistent on having evidence to support the claim, forever declaring it was no more than a fabricated story. In my defence I produced a letter written by my great-grandfather dated April 1856, and I must add, this is the first time the document has ever been seen outside the realms of the Simpson circle of trust.’
‘You didn’t have to produce it, Arthur.’
‘Yes I did, and for two reasons. One, to finally give the network some credibility, and two, the fate of Brigit O’Neill may rest squarely with the evidence. At least now the police will take the matter seriously.’
‘What was the letter about?’ I questioned.
‘It was written while Alfred Simpson toured the underground. The letter makes reference to a number of things, but it doesn’t divulge the whereabouts of the three entrances in fear that his testimony may fall into the wrong hands. As a result he left a clue stating that a mathematical formula in conjunction with a street map will assist, and that a submerged, three-pointed star should hold the key.’
I stared at Arthur as I took in this incredible coincidence.
‘But... how can someone in 1935 write an identical cryptic clue to that of Alfred Simpson back in 1856? I mean, it defies logic if it’s been maintained within the circle of trust.’
‘Initially I can think of only two possibilities. Either my father divulged the secret to a German friend he had at the time, or the cryptic clue was never sole property of the Simpson clan after all. I tend to believe the latter.’
‘Seems logical.’ I could see the discovery had rocked Arthur in a big way.
‘What’s this article all about anyway?’ Hamish asked.
‘It talks about a pointed star being the answer to locate the three entrances and the puzzle may remain unresolved for eternity. Other sentences are a bit hard to translate because I don’t fully understand their use of dialect. We can’t overlook the importance of this article. If Alfred’s letter was still not convincing enough for the sceptics, this paper has confirmed once and for all the network exists.’
‘I wonder if people at the time took the report seriously and started their own treasure hunt,’ I added with a degree of curiosity.
‘Got my doubts, Tom. For starters it’s written in German, which immediately eliminates the masses. The other point is, all the predated reports I’ve read so far have ridiculed the claim as being totally fictional. Chances are the article was scoffed at because people had already been brainwashed into believing otherwise.’
The sudden arrival of Ashley Collins gave us all a bit of a fright. Still sporting his silly grin, he apologised for his unannounced intrusion. ‘So, did we find anything worthwhile?’
I took the liberty of responding first, not wanting the others to reveal our discovery.
‘Not a great deal, but there is an early map of Pedley we would appreciate having photocopied.’
‘A conventional photocopier can’t reproduce the images, but this viewer will at least transmit a half-reasonable duplicate,’ Collins said.
He inserted the appropriate microfiche card and a copy appeared to the side of the viewer. I reached for the paper to assess the image. The resultant drawing was almost childish in its execution, with little or no consideration to scale or compass direction. Unlabelled square blocks were scattered throughout, which I could only surmise were businesses or houses. Street names were limited, with only Pitt, Covert and Williams gaining a mention.
‘Not a masterpiece, but at least it’s something,’ I declared.
‘What year?’ Collins queried.
‘June 1915. What makes you ask?’
‘That doesn’t necessarily mean it was drawn that year. I mean, for all we know it could’ve been done ten years prior.’
‘Good point,’ I acknowledged.
‘Not trying to state the obvious, but Pedley was a vastly reduced township back in those times. Excluding the main six to eight streets, it would be my guess the other roads hadn’t yet been named. As for the buildings, well, that’s anybody’s guess,’ Collins reasoned.
‘In my opinion there needs to be -’ Arthur was cut short by the reporter.
‘Sorry, guys, but you’ll need to pack up shop now as it’s app
roaching five-thirty. We close in ten minutes, so a return visit may be in order if you haven’t quite finished.’
I left the premises feeling reasonably optimistic given Arthur’s remarkable find. Any scepticism or doubt about its existence had now been squashed. The journey to unearth the elusive subterranean system had commenced and hopefully we were a step closer to finding Brigit. I was quietly confident it would be only a matter of time.
~ * ~
T
he day of reckoning had arrived for Forbes and his team with respect to some expert advice and general guidance. Graeme Bailey had arrived at the Pedley Police Station with psychologist Angus Martin, whose role was to explain the mind and criminal behaviour of their foe. The case had suddenly escalated to the point where conventional practices were now inappropriate. It was Martin’s objective to provide guidance with this complex development. Following introductions, the psychologist commenced his opening address before a sizable audience.
