“Jacob van der Heyden!” he cried.
“Where?” Marjorie asked, pressing against him.
“On that yacht,” Willy answered. He could see Jacob looking towards them but there was no hint of recognition. Then he was gone from view as the Wewak moved forward and the yacht’s cabin blocked the view. “I wonder what he is doing here?” he muttered.
“He might live here,” Stick suggested.
“He lives in Sydney, or so he said,” replied Willy.
Marjorie answered. “He is obviously looking for whatever it is he was looking for.”
“You might be right,” Willy answered. His attention was then taken off Jacob by the bow ramp of the Wewak being lowered. The landing craft had swung out across the channel to starboard, then came around to port and crept forward at right angles to the wharf and shore until the steel ramp scraped on the sloping concrete. Mooring ropes were hurled ashore, the port one by Andrew, and within a few minutes the LCT was made fast. Capt Kirk and the mate both came down from the bridge and climbed down into the tank deck and made their way forward. They met the council workers and had a short discussion. The work of unloading the road making machine began.
Capt Kirk made his way aft, leaving the supervision of the unloading to the mate. As he climbed up from the tank deck he looked at the friends and stopped. “We will be here a couple of hours. You can go and see the town if you like.”
Willy looked ashore and, apart from a nearby shop, could see no sign of a business district. Behind the wharf was a bitumen car park and road which curved off to the right out of sight among trees, squeezed in between the lower slopes of the hill and the beach. None of the scattering of buildings in sight looked like a town centre. “Where is it sir?” he asked.
“The main street is along there,” Capt Kirk replied, gesturing to where rooftops were just visible above the tree tops. “Ten minutes walk. Don’t worry, it isn’t a very big town and we won’t leave you behind.”
“I will just check with Mum and Dad,” Willy said. He felt like the walk, if only to get off the vessel. “Anyone else coming?” he asked.
“I will,” Marjorie replied at once.
“Me too. I’ve never seen Cooktown,” Stick answered.
Willy found his mother and father and put the idea to them. They both agreed it was a good idea. “We will come too. I see a taxi there on the wharf. That will save walking in this heat.”
Willy could only agree with the comment about the heat. Now that they were in the lee of Grassy Hill the afternoon heat was sweltering. Hats were found and the group made their way forward. Carmen and Andrew were asked but both declined. “Love to,” Carmen said, “But we are getting paid to work so we stay here.”
“There’ll be other times,” Andrew added confidently.
The group climbed down the steel ladder into the tank deck. In the heat of the afternoon sun this was like an oven and they hurried forward, climbing carefully over the chains and steel wire ropes that held the machines and Four Wheelers in place. Taking care not to stumble on the steel ramp with its raised steel ridges they made their way ashore.
As they walked up the concrete ramp Willy said, “I would like to go and say hello to Jacob van der Heyden.”
“Good idea,” Marjorie agreed.
Willy’s father nodded. “You do that. We won’t all fit in the taxi anyway. Your mother and I will go first and then send it back for you in a few minutes. Don’t keep it waiting because I will have paid for both trips.”
Willy nodded and turned left. He headed across the wharf to where the small yacht was tied up. As he got closer he saw that it was only about 7 metres long, of the ‘trailer-sailer’ type. He knew he was no expert on boats but to him it had a distinct air of being poorly maintained. The ropes looked grey with age and the paint was faded and peeling. As he reached the edge of the wharf and looked down Willy saw the name painted on the stern. Picked out in new gold letters was the word Dyfken.
‘That figures,’ he thought. Then he saw Jacob looking up at him from under the awning, a slightly puzzled look on his face. Willy realized he had not recognized them so he said, “Hello Jacob. I am Willy Williams, from the ‘Catalina’.”
Jacob stood up and looked up at them, the deck of the yacht being a metre or so below the level of the wharf. He frowned for a second and then his face cleared. “Oh hello! I didn’t recognize you. I’m sorry.”
As he said this a very pretty blonde girl of about 16 came into view from under the awning. She wore a bikini top and faded shorts and Willy could see straight down the front of her top. ‘Now that is a lovely bosom,’ he thought, noting her pleasing shape.
A woman also came into view, a larger, older version of the girl. She had on khaki shirt and shorts and her shirt was very well filled. It reminded Willy of a bit of his father’s advice of looking at the mother before he decided to marry a girl because that was what the girl might look like in twenty years time. The woman gave a quizzical and anxious smile.
Jacob said, “These are some of the air cadets who helped rescue me Mum. This is Willy Williams. He was the one who spotted me in the water as they flew over.”
“Oh hello! I’m Hendrika van der Heyden. Thank you for what you did,” she said.
The girl, obviously Jacob’s sister, introduced herself. “I’m Julia,” she said. “Thanks.”
Stick, and Marjorie were introduced but neither Jacob nor his sister or mother made any attempt to invite them aboard. They all seemed a bit nervous. Julia pointed upriver and said, “Did you come off that flying boat?”
Willy shook his head. “The Pterodactyl? No. We are travelling on the Wewak,” he explained, pointing to the LCT.
“I saw the plane and thought it was the same one,” Jacob commented.
“No, this one belongs to Mr Jemmerling,” Willy replied. “We had a flight in it last weekend. When did it arrive, do you know?”
“Only about an hour ago,” Jacob answered.
“Which way did it fly in from?” Willy enquired.
Jacob pointed northwards. “From that direction.”
Willy nodded. “Have you been here long?” he asked.
“Only today to get fuel and water,” Jacob replied. He didn’t sound very happy.
Marjorie asked, “Are you still looking for whatever it is?”
There was a moment’s silence and Willy distinctly saw a look of anxiety cross Jacob’s face. His mother’s went positively stony. Then Jacob shook his head and said, “Just touring around,” at exactly the same moment his sister said, “Just doing some fishing.”
There was an embarrassed silence and Willy noted that both brother and sister looked flustered and exchanged anxious glances. To save the situation he said, “I see you’ve named your yacht the Duyfken. We flew over Dyfken Point last Sunday.” He went on to describe the flight.
The van der Heydens were polite and chatted but Willy quickly got the impression that the visit was not welcome. It wasn’t helped when Julia asked what they were doing. All three of them then did what Jacob and his sister had just done. Willy said touring, Marjorie said a holiday trip and Stick said fishing, which Willy thought sounded most unlikely if they were passengers on a cargo vessel.
There was another uneasy silence and Willy felt sure that the van der Heydens were staring at them with suspicion. To his relief the taxi returned and he was able to say, “Oh good! Here’s our taxi. Oh well, be seeing you. Have a good trip.”
“Same to you,” Jacob replied, but in a hard, suspicious sounding tone.
The three friends hurried across to the taxi and climbed in. Willy found he was sweating and knew he was feeling a bit tense. No sooner had they settled in their seats and done their seatbelts up when Marjorie squeaked, “They are looking for a treasure or whatever it is.”
Willy glanced at the taxi driver, whose head jerked round at the word treasure. Furious at the slip Willy dug his elbow into Marjorie’s side.
“Ow! I.. oh!” Marjorie cried,
making it worse in Willy’s eyes. She gave him a ‘sorry’ look with big, anxious eyes.
The taxi started up and drove off towards the town. Willy stared out at the passing scene. They passed several buildings including a nice looking motel, then open bush, followed by a cluster of police buildings on the left. On the right was a grassy footpath with alternating small beaches and clumps of mangroves. Just past the police station they passed a small park on the right.
The taxi driver pointed and said, “That’s where Captain Cook beached the Endeavour for repairs.”
Having heard and read so much about Cook’s exploration during the last few weeks Willy stared at the place with interest. The park was right on the edge of the beach and in it sat a stone monument and a genuine old-fashioned muzzle-loading, ship’s cannon.
Stick was curious about it and asked the taxi driver who informed them that it was a real cannon, a 24 pounder made in 1803 and sent to Cooktown in the late 19th Century to help defend the port against possible Russian attack.
“Russians!” Stick cried incredulously. They discussed this while they drove on with a tree lined footpath and beach on the right and then more buildings on the left. Some of these were substantial business premises. The main street opened up ahead of them and Willy was instantly struck by how wide it was and how quaint and old-fashioned the town looked. There was also an impression of how deserted it was. Theirs was the only vehicle moving, although several were parked along the kerbs. There wasn’t a single person in sight.
After passing a grand, old, two-story hotel made of timber which stood on a corner they asked to be let out.
“We will walk thanks,” Willy said.
The taxi braked to a halt and the friends climbed out. Willy went to climb up over the kerbing and channelling onto the footpath and stopped. “Look at this. The gutters are all stone,” he exclaimed. He looked right and left and saw that the old, hand-hewn stone gutters extended right along the street. Similar stonework could be seen across the fifty metres of deserted bitumen.
The trio strolled along, taking in the sights and enjoying the change of scene. Despite the heat Willy found he was enjoying himself. Without even thinking about it he took Marjorie’s hand and she smiled happily. Willy now studied the layout more closely and noted that most of the buildings were of 19th Century design. He also noted that almost every second allotment was vacant and was either weeds and sun-browned grass or with a few trees and bushes growing in it.
Half way along the block they came to a shop and went in. It sold softdrinks and icecreams so they all purchased one of each. The softdrinks were placed in a plastic carry bag and the friends walked outside and continued on along the block, licking their ice creams as they sauntered along.
“This is just what I needed in this heat,” Willy commented. Even though it was nearly 4:45pm the sun was still high in the sky and the air was stifling. He opened his mouth to comment on the building they were just passing, a grand old bank with a wide, stone staircase and a pillared portico, when he stared in surprise.
Through the door had come Mr Jemmerling. He was dressed all in white and wore a white ‘Panama’ hat. In his left hand he clutched a large brown envelope. In other circumstances Willy thought Mr Jemmerling’s white trousers and shirt would have looked ridiculous anywhere else but somehow they just seemed to suit the place and the wearer.
Mr Jemmerling saw them as he hurried down the steps and his face split into a smile. “Hello again,” he said cheerfully. “What brings you lot to Cooktown?”
“Oh, just touring,” Willy answered, just as Stick started to say fishing.
“Sightseeing eh?” Mr Jemmerling said, stopping at the bottom of the steps. He looked both ways along the street. “Did you drive here?” he asked.
Before Willy could answer Stick said, “No, we came by sea on a barge.”
“On the Wewak eh? That would have been interesting,” Mr Jemmerling commented.
His comment flabbergasted Willy, leaving his mind seething with suspicion. ‘How does he know about the Wewak?’ he wondered. That was followed by the suspicion that Mr Jemmerling might be keeping them under surveillance. ‘Or, worse still, he has a spy among our group,’ Willy thought unhappily.
His unhappiness was increased when Mr Jemmerling said, “So you are on you way to retrieve one of your aircraft wrecks are you?”
Willy was aghast. He glanced at Stick and Marjorie, ready to snap at them if they answered. They looked back at him with anxious looks. When they did not reply Mr Jemmerling gave a short laugh and said, “Sorry. That wasn’t a fair question. It is your secret and you must keep it.” He smiled and said, “Your ice creams are melting.”
Willy saw that Marjorie’s ice cream was dripping unnoticed down her front. She squealed and shoved it hastily into her mouth. Willy and Stick both licked at theirs and Willy wracked his brains to try to think of something polite to say.
Mr Jemmerling smiled again, then glanced at his watch and said, “Anyway, I’d love to stay and chat but I must fly. I need to get this in the mail before the Post Office closes. So I will wish you all a Merry Christmas and hope we meet again.”
He sounded so obviously sincere that Willy blushed with shame and confusion. “Same to you sir, and thanks again for the flight last weekend.”
“My pleasure young Willy. Now I really must trot. Goodbye,” Mr Jemmerling replied as he set off at a brisk walk along the footpath in the direction the friends had come from.
Willy and his friends stood on the footpath and watched him hurry away, crossing the wide street at a brisk walk. “Well!” he said. “I didn’t expect to run into him.”
“Do you think he is watching us?” Stick suggested.
“Spying on us you mean?” Willy answered. “I don’t know. He is such a nice person and so generous that I can’t decide if it all just a cunning front or not.”
By this time Mr Jemmerling had vanished into the old wooden Post Office set under mango trees over on the river side of the road. The friends continued walking, licking their ice creams and commenting on the town but to Willy it was all of no importance. All he could think about was Mr Jemmerling and why he might be in Cooktown.
They passed a second hotel and more shops, grateful for the shade from the awnings they had out over the footpath. At the far end of the block they came to yet another two-story, timber hotel. “This seems to be the end of the business district,” Willy commented. He had finished his ice cream by then and opened one of the soft drinks.
“I’m getting a bit hot and tired,” Marjorie said. “I’d like to go back to the ship.”
“Alright. Along the other footpath for variety,” Willy agreed. In the sweltering tropical heat he felt he had seen enough of Cooktown for the moment.
The friends crossed the street, being held up by the first vehicle they had seen apart from the taxi. As they started walking back along the tree-lined footpath towards the wharf Stick said sarcastically, “It’s busy!”
They laughed, then laughed again when three vehicles drove past in quick succession and Willy commented that it must be the Five o’clock Rush.
As they walked along Willy kept looking for Mr Jemmerling but he saw no sign of him, not even at the Post Officer when they reached it. It was a lovely old timber building and he peeked in just as a lady began shutting doors and windows. ‘Not in there,’ he noted. ‘Now where has he gone?’ He hadn’t seen him recross the street or get into a vehicle.
As they passed the Post Office, which was the last building on that side of the street, Willy saw that a pathway led towards the river through a belt of scrub and mangroves. ‘Maybe he went that way to get on a boat?’ he thought, picturing Mr Jemmerling climbing aboard the Pterodactyl.
That got him looking mostly in that direction. For a hundred metres he could only get glimpses of the river through the belt of mangroves but he managed to spot the flying boat, still lying to a mooring in midstream. After that the mangroves thinned out and patches of mu
d and small beaches appeared. Small boats lay on the shore or bobbed at anchor just out from the mangroves.
The friends came to Captain Cook’s memorial and spent a few minutes looking at it and in studying the old ship’s cannon. It was the genuine article and Willy was quite thrilled to see the date 1803 stamped in the end of the trunnions. ‘Andrew will like this,’ he thought.
From there they had a good view out over the estuary and Willy spent a few thoughtful minutes staring back at the now distant shape of the ‘Catalina’. Then he noted that the tide had begun to make and he checked his watch. “Half past five! Come on, we had better get back.”
They resumed walking. A few minutes later Willy’s mother and father drove past in the taxi, heading for the wharf. They stopped and asked if they wanted a lift. Willy shook his head. “No thanks. It is only a few hundred metres. We will walk,” he said.
The taxi drove on and the trio continued on their way. As they rounded the curve just past the police station Willy noted a man walking quickly towards them, the first pedestrian they had met. The man wore dirty old grey overalls and a greasy cloth hat but had a camera with a very powerful telephoto lens attached to it slung around his neck.
It was the man’s odd behaviour that first attracted Willy’s attention. The man twice stopped and looked back, then resumed walking. It was then that Willy was struck by the incongruity of the expensive camera and the old clothes. ‘He doesn’t look like a tourist,’ he thought. The idea that he might be a birdwatcher or something similar crossed his mind. That thought made Willy look more carefully at the man. The man had seen them but appeared to take no notice- until they were about 25 metres from him and his eyes met Willy’s.
Coasts of Cape York Page 27
