Nelly Samson: Broome’s First Female Pearl Diver

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Broome’s history is rich, shaped by diverse cultures, challenging industries, and remarkable events. It is often mistakenly thought that William Dampier was the first European to visit Broome. In reality, he only explored parts of the northern coast in 1688. It wasn’t until 1699 that he ventured further, traveling from Shark Bay to La Grange Bay. He did not linger long, heading northward and leaving Australia behind. Though Dampier never visited the town, many features of the surrounding coast now bear his name, reflecting his legacy.

The town’s official founding came much later. In 1879, Charles Harper proposed a government station at Cape Villaret, on the southern tip of Roebuck Bay. He believed this would serve as a port, facilitating the growing Pearl Shell Fishery, which was rapidly becoming an important industry. John Forrest, a man known for his keen eye, chose the site in 1883. Broome was then named after Sir Frederick Broome, who served as the Governor of Western Australia from 1883 to 1889.

The town quickly grew as settlers arrived, drawn by opportunities in pearling and agriculture. By the 1880s, Broome had gained international attention for its pearling industry. Pearls were prized, and so were the shells that could be shaped into buttons, jewelry, and decorative items. But the work was hard. Pearl diving wasn’t just a job—it was dangerous. Many divers came from Japan, others from Malaysia, China, and the Philippines. The labor was often forced, with many workers trapped in indentured contracts or, worse, enslaved. This brutal system created tension in Broome, especially as the different ethnic groups struggled for their place in the industry.

Nelly Samson was a local woman born in Broome in the late 1800s. Her father was a pearl diver, one of the few who had managed to rise above the harsh conditions. Her mother ran a small stall selling shells and trinkets to travelers passing through town. Nelly, from a young age, knew the rhythms of the ocean. She watched her father and other divers prepare for their dives, knowing the risks they took.

When Nelly turned twenty, she made an unexpected decision. She wanted to dive. Not just for shells, but for pearls themselves. This was unheard of for a woman. People in town talked. “A woman doesn’t belong in the deep,” they said. Her father told her to forget the idea. “It’s too dangerous,” he warned. But Nelly wouldn’t be swayed. She had seen the wealth that pearls brought. She knew that if she could find just one—one perfect pearl—her family would no longer need to struggle.

One day, Nelly approached a local diver, a Japanese man named Sato. He was old, with many years of diving behind him, and respected by everyone. She asked him to teach her. He looked at her and said, “The sea does not care if you are man or woman. It only cares if you are ready.”

For months, Nelly trained. She learned to hold her breath, to dive deep, to respect the tides. Finally, the day came when she would dive for the first time. The other divers watched as she prepared. Some laughed, others were silent, curious about what would happen.

She dove. The water was cold, but she had practiced for this moment. Nelly moved swiftly, searching the seabed for oysters. Time stretched on as she gathered her first haul. When she surfaced, everyone held their breath. She held out her hand, opening it slowly. Inside was a pearl. Not just any pearl—a large, iridescent one.

The town was in awe. Nelly had done what no one thought possible. She became the first female pearl diver in Broome, and her success didn’t stop there. Over time, she found more pearls, each more beautiful than the last. The money she earned from them changed her family’s life. They no longer had to scrape by.

But for Nelly, it wasn’t just about the pearls. She had proven something—women, too, could master the sea.

As she grew older, Nelly passed on her knowledge. She taught others how to dive, how to find the best oysters, and how to respect the ocean. And when people asked her why she had done it, she would smile and say, “The sea listens, if you do.”

Nelly’s story became legend in Broome. To this day, locals remember her as a trailblazer, a woman who defied the odds and made her own mark on the pearling industry.

Eliza Dunn: A Pioneer of Warrnambool’s Wisdom

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The land of Warrnambool is ancient. The Merrigundidj people lived there for over 35,000 years. They built stone and timber weirs called yereroc across waterways. These weirs helped them trap eels. They knew the land, its rivers, its secrets.

At the mouth of the Hopkins River, there was a place called Moyjil. There, the Koroitgundidj people lived in a village near what is now Tower Hill. The area was rich in life, with kangaroos gathering to drink at a waterhole called Kunang. The hill known as Puurkar held significance, as did many other places in the region.

Then came the Europeans. The first to explore the land were mariners, men of the sea. In 1800, Lieutenant James Grant sailed the Lady Nelson along the coast. Two years later, Matthew Flinders came with his ship, the Investigator. French explorer Nicholas Baudin followed. They recorded the land, but it was the whalers who truly settled.

By 1838, Captain Alexander Campbell, a Scottish whaler, took possession of 4,000 acres near the Merri River. He built a farm there. The township of Warrnambool was planned soon after, in 1845, and the first land was sold two years later. The Post Office opened in 1849, marking the town’s growth.

Warrnambool grew fast. Whaling gave way to farming, and then came more settlers. Roads were made, and the town spread. But the people of the land—the Merrigundidj—were pushed away. Their weirs crumbled. Their village was gone. The town remembered them only in names: Kunang, Wirkneung, Peetoop. The past lived on, but faintly.

Among the settlers, one woman left a lasting mark. Her name was Eliza Dunn. She wasn’t rich. She wasn’t famous. But she was wise.

Eliza lived near the mouth of the river. Her family had come to farm. She helped in the fields, mended clothes, and kept the house. But what made her special wasn’t her work—it was her understanding.

One year, the rain didn’t stop. The river swelled, and people feared it would flood their homes. Some spoke of moving. But Eliza said, “Wait. The river will find its way.”

Her words seemed simple, but people listened. Eliza watched the river, walking its banks each day. She spoke to the elders, both settlers and the few Aboriginal people who remained. “It will break to the east,” she told them. “It has done so before.”

Her knowledge came not from books, but from listening—listening to the land and those who had lived with it. Sure enough, after days of rain, the river swelled eastward, sparing the town. People marveled at Eliza’s foresight.

One day, she stood by the river, speaking with a young woman from a nearby farm. “How did you know?” the young woman asked.

Eliza smiled. “The land speaks. It tells us what it needs. If we listen, we can live with it.”

Her wisdom spread. Farmers began to consult her on matters of the soil and seasons. When to plant, when to harvest. “What does the land say?” they would ask. And she would answer, always humbly, always with care.

But Eliza’s story was not just about land. She was also known for her kindness. One winter, a traveler came through, cold and hungry. He knocked on Eliza’s door, seeking shelter. She welcomed him in, fed him, and gave him a place to sleep.

“Why are you so kind to strangers?” a neighbor once asked her.

“We are all travelers,” Eliza replied. “Some of us just don’t know it.”

Her words carried weight. Simple truths, spoken softly. People remembered them long after she was gone.

Eliza passed away in her home by the river. She was not rich. She was not powerful. But her wisdom lingered. The town grew and changed, but those who knew her never forgot her words. Her story became part of Warrnambool’s history.

Years later, when the river swelled again, people remembered Eliza. They watched its course, knowing it would find its way, just as she had said.

And so, Warrnambool grew. It became a place of farming and trade. The land, once home to the Merrigundidj, changed hands many times. But the memory of the land’s first people, and the wisdom of settlers like Eliza Dunn, remained. The town carried their stories, woven into its fabric, just as the river wound its way through the hills and out to sea.

Eliza’s words lived on. “The land speaks,” she had said. “If we listen, we can live with it.”

Discover Scottsdale: A Blend of History and Lavender

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Scottsdale is a town built on its history. Nestled in Tasmania’s north-east, it owes its name to James Reid Scott, the surveyor who first mapped the land in 1855. His words, “the best soil on the island … well watered, with a mild climate,” still echo today. Scott saw the potential, and it wasn’t long before settlers followed. In 1859, the first land was claimed, and by 1865, the hamlet of Ellesmere had its post office. In 1893, the town adopted the name Scottsdale.

The town’s roots are in farming. Potatoes were the first crop that took hold. The land gave generously, and soon dairy farms dotted the countryside. By the 20th century, pine plantations and poppy fields stretched as far as the eye could see. Even mining found its place, and while hops were once king, they gave way to new industries over time. The hop farms became dairy land or forests, a sign of how the town adapted to change.

Scottsdale’s people are used to change. But they are proud of their past. They remember how, in 1958, the Defence Nutrition Research Centre came to town. It brought jobs, science, and attention to this quiet place. It still stands today, though modernized by the Defence Science and Technology Organisation.

Tourism has breathed new life into Scottsdale. Surrounded by green fields and blue mountains, visitors come to see the Barnbougle Dunes and the Lost Farm Golf Links. Some wander through the Bridestowe Estate Lavender Farm, marveling at the endless purple fields. For a time, the Forest EcoCentre welcomed those curious about forestry. Though it has since closed, the forests remain a vital part of the region’s identity.

But change isn’t always kind. The closure of the North-East Tasmania Rail Line in the early 2000s hit the town hard. The line once connected Scottsdale to the rest of the state, bringing goods and people. When it closed, trucks took over the roads, and the railway was torn up. Some of it was repurposed for the Abt Wilderness Railway on the west coast. The town fought to keep it alive as a tourist railway, but that battle was lost. Now, the local Rotary Club has made part of the old track a bike trail.

King Street, the heart of Scottsdale, has felt the strain too. Empty shops dot the main street, as local businesses struggle to keep their doors open. Yet, the town endures. Its community is tight-knit, and they are used to weathering storms, both literal and figurative.

One such storm came in the form of a woman named Mabel Greene. Born and raised in Scottsdale, she had always been a part of the town’s fabric. Her father farmed potatoes, and her mother ran a small shop on King Street. Mabel was known for her strong will. Some called her stubborn, but those who knew her better called her determined.

In the early 1980s, when the town was still reeling from the changes in the farming industry, Mabel did something no one expected. She bought one of the failing hop farms. People whispered, “She’s lost her mind. Hops are dead.” But Mabel saw things differently.

One afternoon, in the local café, an old farmer named Jack Murphy asked her, “What’re you gonna do with all that land, Mabel? You’re not planting hops, are you?”

“No,” she said, sipping her tea. “I’m planting lavender.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Lavender? In Scottsdale? You sure about that?”

Mabel smiled. “Sure as I’ve ever been. People will come for it. You’ll see.”

And people did come. Mabel’s lavender fields bloomed, a sea of purple that stretched out under the blue sky. She started small, selling lavender oil and dried flowers at the market. But soon, word spread. Visitors from all over Tasmania and even the mainland came to see the fields in bloom. Mabel’s farm became one of the most popular stops in the region. She turned her home into a small bed and breakfast, welcoming travelers who came for the lavender and stayed for the hospitality.

Years later, when asked about her decision, Mabel would simply say, “Sometimes, you just have to plant something new.”

Her success was more than just personal. It showed the town that there was life beyond the traditional industries. It was a reminder that even in a place as rooted in history as Scottsdale, the future could still hold surprises.

Scottsdale remains a town in flux. Its people remember the past, but they look to the future. The fields are still green, the mountains still blue, and the soil, just as Scott once said, still gives generously. Whether through potatoes, lavender, or something yet unimagined, Scottsdale’s story continues to unfold.