by Di Morrissey
Just hearing the affable and mature voice of the silver-haired lawyer was reassuring. ‘How lovely to begin the day with a call from The Bay. I imagine it’s another beautiful day and you are all congratulating each other for being there and not in Sydney. What can I do for you, Letitia?’
‘Oh, it’s nothing earth shattering, Mr Hamilton, but I was wondering if you had heard about the public reaction here to the rezoning application? It was all over the local rag this morning.’
‘Yes, my dear. Sam gave me a call at an hour he associated with bowel movements of the sparrow,’ he replied. ‘Filled me in completely. There’s nothing untoward in what’s being made public. I expected it would raise some concerns, but Andrew should be able to address those with some expertise.’
‘There are some coffee-shop rumours suggesting shady deals done a long time ago to do with that land on Mighty Beach. Nothing definite, but you know . . . They’ve had a week to gather momentum,’ Letitia said, trying to give the call added justification.
‘Momentum and exaggeration, no doubt,’ he replied, politely dismissing the reaction. ‘Be assured, Letitia, that everything about this deal is above board. After all, your father was closely associated with the company that sold the land to Beacon Land Holdings so long ago. It was gilt-edged, that was how he put it to me. Good fellow, all very tragic . . .’ He sighed, leaving the sentence unfinished. He was thinking about the sad demise of a promising solicitor he’d studied with at law school. Drunk himself into an early grave leaving a wife and very young daughter.
Letitia was stunned, speechless almost. She’d known her father and Hamilton had been to law school together, but couldn’t recall either of them ever mentioning a business connection. She quickly closed the conversation. ‘Yes, indeed. Of course,’ she fumbled. ‘All right then, back to the daily grind. Bye.’
For a while she paced around her smart unit with its distant ocean view and agonised over what to do next. She had to get the whirlwind of thoughts in her mind under control. Suddenly she stopped, quickly swallowed the last of the near cold coffee and rang the office. She was relieved to hear she had no appointments, told the secretary that she would be late and to refer people to her mobile for only the most urgent matters. Then she drove to the industrial estate and parked outside a self-storage shed in the complex.
The lock had rusted up and required some lubricant from the car tool kit, and some hissed curses, before it opened. It had been a couple of years since she had needed to unlock the shed. It was filled with possessions from the family home, which she had packed up when her mother was admitted to the Brigalow Nursing Home. After rummaging around for ten minutes she found some tea chests identified by marker pen as ‘Daddy’s Files’. She knew from a couple of previous hunts for some of his old legal papers relevant to her own clients that the search this time was not going to be easy, unless she was lucky.
The atmosphere in the Community Centre was almost festive as friends greeted each other. There was also the occasional head shaking and exclamation as people wandered up to the large display board propped in front of the stage. On it was a map of the land in question and a series of photographs showing its pristine state, children in the small park in the reserve, birds in the wetlands and a lovely shot of the full length of the beach with a couple in the distance walking their dog. A large sign declared ‘Save Mighty Beach’ with a petition beside it which almost everyone signed.
Rows of chairs were set up facing the stage and a trestle table by one wall held a hot water urn, cups, milk, instant coffee and tea bags for people to help themselves. Nola glanced at her watch and looked around the rapidly filling hall. ‘Better get the show on the road in a few minutes. Looks like everyone who wants to be here, is here.’
Holly nodded agreement. ‘It’s a good roll-up considering the short notice and little publicity. All we need is Buck Hagen and he’ll turn up for sure. Best of luck, Nola.’
She was about to move off the stage when Nola called her back and in a softer than usual voice said, ‘Holly, I hope you’re not too upset about the way this is going, given the certainty that Andrew is involved. I mean, you’re more or less committing yourself to being in the frontline of opposition.’
Holly took Nola’s hands in hers and squeezed them in a gesture of appreciation. ‘Thank you for thinking about my feelings at this time. I am so grateful that with all the pressure of the evening you can find the time to give a thought to me.’ Holly leaned forward and kissed her cheek. ‘Thanks, but I’m handling it all okay so far, and I’m determined to stay in the frontline, as you described it. Very determined,’ she added.
‘Wonderful, darling. Absolutely wonderful,’ said Nola as Holly moved off and then went to a seat a few rows from the front.
Stolle sat with Lynn at the front and flipped open his notebook. ‘The pro-development lobby has a few reps here, I see,’ he said and pointed towards a group of local builders and business types in the centre of the hall.
‘Going to be a good night out,’ Lynn said as she checked the tape in a small recorder linked to a microphone on the stage. They were going to record the evening for community radio. ‘Also the people from Coast Care are here, the Natural Heritage Preservation Society, a few other environmental groups, the wildlife carers and our local member of State Parliament. And to complete the cast, my opposition has just arrived – ABC Radio.’
Setting up another microphone on the stage was an attractive woman with a tape recorder who introduced herself to Nola. ‘I’m Fiona Wyllie, I host the breakfast show on regional ABC. I’d like to tape the proceedings and get a few words from you and some of the others here for tomorrow morning’s program. Local radio news will use some of it too.’
‘Delighted,’ declared Nola. ‘You might be lucky and score something unexpected.’
There was a stir as Buck Hagen strode in looking rumpled and distracted, clutching a folder of documents. He sat beside Sid Wainwright in the front row.
Nola tapped the microphone, which crackled and caused the crowd to start hushing each other as they looked expectantly at the dramatic figure before them. Nola had dressed for the occasion in a gold and scarlet print caftan and matching turban. She was wearing emerald jewellery and looked, declared Lynn, ‘like the high priestess of The Bay’.
‘Fellow citizens, welcome,’ she said and the room grew quiet. ‘Thank you for coming. You’re here as I am, not just because we care about The Bay we love, but also because we care about what we’re going to leave for future generations. A special part of The Bay is under threat. Let us begin by asking why. Why here? Why this strip of land, why this bit of beach? Why choose to build on an area of land that has been regarded as a public reserve for years, that has sensitive wetlands and dunes, that is unstable for construction and would require massive infrastructure, and also is culturally significant to our Indigenous people?’
The instant but subdued reaction in many parts of the audience caused Nola to pause. She decided not to elaborate, particularly since the local middens and sacred sites had been well documented by the Aboriginal custodians of The Bay’s indigenous history.
Then she sailed on, raising an arm for dramatic effect. ‘The main reason this land is sought for development is its beauty. And beauty means big bucks. But beauty is something that cannot be bought. Such natural beauty is given by God. Once we allow it to be taken away, we lose it forever.’ There was a burst of applause.
‘There’s a lot of ugliness in this world. So a place that is unique, that is as beautiful as any place in the world is a place to be treasured. This tiny stretch of land which we can all own, all share, all appreciate, should not, must not, be taken from us and buried beneath bricks and mortar!’
‘Hear, hear.’ There was a roar of approval from most people in the room.
The small knot of pro-development supporters looked disgusted and shook their heads in disbelief. ‘Get real, what about jobs, the future of the town?’ called one of the group.
There was a scattering of applause as Shelley made her way to the stage. ‘See, this is an issue that is getting the thinkers to speak out in public – not something they normally do,’ whispered Lynn to Stolle.
Slim and quietly spoken, Shelley was gently firm as she explained she felt compelled to speak on behalf of ‘The Bay tribe’.
‘Our tribe goes beyond radical green clichés,’ she began. ‘Our tribe is the epitome of social and cultural diversity. We have old people and young people, businessmen and businesswomen. Doctors and lawyers, students and teachers. We have musicians and builders and hairdressers and artists. We are people from the hills and people from the coast, and we are a hell of a big tribe!’
Members of the audience called out in support, and with her dark curls bouncing, Shelley continued in a stronger voice, ‘We know that our unspoilt landscape and friendly small-town atmosphere are our greatest assets. We value our lifestyle and our sense of community. Big companies don’t understand that we are not into greed and instant gratification – if we were, we would all be living up the road at the Gold Coast!’ At this there was a roar. Shelley summed up by pointing out that mega developments were not what this tribe wanted for their community.
Stolle wrote furiously knowing this would be a front page story for the Bugle.
Nola thanked Shelley and said, ‘Now I’d like to call on Councillor Buck Hagen.’
Buck ambled onto the stage and the attitude of the audience became more relaxed. They all knew him, and even his opponents agreed that Buck always put on a good performance. He nodded in acknowledgment of Nola, then scanned the hall as if plugging into everyone with individual eye contact. Buck didn’t mince words or bother with niceties, and that made many of his performances in council meetings such a highlight. Wisps of hair not restrained in his ponytail sprang around his face, his shirt needed ironing and he had the air of a weary puppy dog who just wanted a good feed and to curl up in front of the fire. In a gentle voice that seemed at odds with his large build and perceived belligerent persona he greeted the audience, now jammed in with standing room only.
‘Yeah, g’day. Glad to be here. Look, this is important. It’s not just this bit of land at the Mighty Beach reserve, special and beautiful as it is. It’s about what we want in our community. It’s about us deciding what we want to happen to a significant area of land, believed till now to be public land. It’s about outsiders coming in and wheeling and dealing over our heads to manipulate and con us. Not that I’m saying there’s anything illegal about this plan,’ he added, lifting a hand in a placatory gesture. ‘But there is a lot of undisclosed issues in this whole procedure. Why don’t the owners of the land come forward and speak to us? Why are they hiding behind their lawyers’ skirts? If this development is such a bloody good idea, why don’t they tell us what they’re wanting to build, tell us right now?’
Again there was a muttering of agreement and Buck continued. ‘Like a lot of people, I’ve been fighting for this community for a long time. But it can’t be left to the old brigade alone to keep The Bay the kind of place that makes it unique – a little bit of paradise as it is constantly called, particularly by the increasing number of new comers banging on the door. The problem is that for a lot of folk these days finding a little bit of paradise is like finding a potential goldmine. Unfortunately for us, ruthlessly exploiting a goldmine is considered by them as the only way to go. Generally speaking, greed is their religion and to hell with anyone who gets in the way. Their argument that if they don’t do it someone else will is not acceptable!’
Another burst of applause followed by brief remarks between members of the audience and Buck sensed it was time to wrap up. ‘There are many relatively new people in our community and they must be made aware of what’s been won, what’s under threat, and how quickly we can be undermined by the greed of money grubbers, who mostly don’t live here. So if you want to live here, in a place you chose because it’s clean, green and beautiful, then you bloody well have to fight for it.’
He strode from the stage to strong applause and a few exchanged smiles.
For the next hour there was heated discussion about the threat to Mighty Beach and conflict between the vision of the conservation faction and others who saw the need for compromise if the town was to economically survive and provide more jobs in the future. Several speakers emphasised that from a strictly legal point of view, the rezoning application was in order. The full details of the project would be revealed and publicly debated at some future occasion, if rezoning was approved.
Eventually Nola called everyone to order. Then without expressions of dissent the meeting passed a motion to form the Mighty Beach Action Group to take appropriate steps. ‘So I’m calling for volunteers for a small steering committee. Have we a nomination for chairperson?’
There was a moment of silence then Mac rose to her feet. ‘I would like to nominate Holly Jamieson.’
‘Seconded,’ called Billy, lifting his arm.
Holly was shocked. ‘Oh, no I couldn’t. I mean –’
‘Go for it, Holly,’ whispered Amber.
Nola flashed a smile towards Holly. ‘It’s an important frontline job, Mrs Jamieson, do you accept nomination?’
Holly glanced over her shoulder to Mitch who gave a thumbs up and a huge smile. And in that moment, Holly felt some kind of strength, a sense of purpose, along with a devil-may-care feeling of release. She stood up and addressed the audience through Nola. ‘I’m flattered that as a relative newcomer I could be considered worthy of such a role. Yes, I accept and will do my best to reflect the wishes of the community.’
Nola ran through a few more nominations for the committee, which were agreed to, and handed over the meeting to Holly to close. ‘Keep it very short and sweet, my dear,’ she whispered as Holly stood before the microphone.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, thanks for your vote. I hope our committee will deliver the goods, with the help of the wider community, of course. As it stands the outcome may well depend on votes in council, so we have to ensure that our representatives really hear what we’re saying. These days, it seems to me, that at too many levels of government, on too many issues, the people in power say they’re listening, but really they aren’t listening and don’t want to hear what the people are telling them. There’s a big difference. Thank you, goodnight and thanks for coming.’
The applause this time was punctuated by some cheering, and a brief chant from the teenagers present: ‘Save Mighty Beach . . . Save Mighty Beach. Yeah.’
As Holly stepped down from the stage a young man with a shaved head, a lot of body piercing and tattoos stopped her. ‘Hi, I’m Clive. I run one of the tattoo parlours. I’m with you guys one hundred per cent. Look, what do you think of this?’ He pushed up his shirt sleeve to show a tattoo on his arm – ‘Save Mighty Beach’.
‘Oh, my, that is dedication,’ said Holly, slightly startled.
‘It’s only temporary, it’ll wash off in a couple of weeks. I thought you might like to give ’em out to people.’
‘Well, thank you. It’s different from bumper stickers.’
Next a tall, distinguished-looking man introduced himself to her. ‘Hello, I’m Alec Shand, I’m a QC. I’ve seen the light and retreated from the city hurly-burly.’ They shook hands and he introduced his attractive wife. ‘We’re living up here now and I have chambers not far away. If I can be of assistance please call me.’
Holly thanked him profusely and was interrupted by Fiona asking for an interview.
Letitia met Andrew at the airport and embraced him. It seemed to Andrew that she clung to him a fraction longer than normal. Then she pulled away and was all business, filling him in on the latest gossip and radio feedback from the public meeting. ‘It’s really stirring the
hornet’s nest. Those friends of Holly’s are going off in all directions, mad as hell.’
Andrew shook his head. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to her since she moved up here. She’s a totally different person.’ He was silent for a moment, thinking that despite their differences Holly had blossomed into an intriguing and interesting woman. Far more so than when they were living together in Sydney.
‘The tourist people should promote The Bay as the place you go to change your life, rather than concentrating on the scenery and the opportunities for dropping out,’ Letitia said in a tone that surprised Andrew. It sounded cynical and lacked her usual energy.
He rested his hand on her thigh as she drove. ‘You’re going to have a big change in your life too. When this whole thing takes off, so do we!’
‘Change. Yes, I want a change. No more small town for me,’ she said fiercely, in a sudden switch of mood. ‘It’s money, Andrew. Big dollars to change my life.’
Andrew was slightly taken aback at the vehemence of her tone. But it was her ambition and thirst for money that were among the things that had attracted him to her. He decided to match her businesslike tone. ‘So where and when do I give the presentation?’
‘At the Bay Best Motel, there’s a nice convention room. We’ve got the model set up, display pictures, video screen, brochures, press kits. Drinks and food, of course.’
‘Who’s been invited?’
