Category Archives: Business Woman

The Mystery of USS Pelican: Exmouth’s Hidden Story

The town of Exmouth, as it stands today, hides a layered history beneath its tranquil shores and the steady hum of tourists. Established during the Second World War, it was initially conceived as a critical naval base, a lifeline for Allied submarines struggling against the Japanese. Officially known as “Potshot,” this spartan outpost provided the means for refueling submarines after the retreat from Java in 1942. Its remote location made it ideal—far enough from air raids that plagued cities like Darwin and Broome.

The base was no glamour post. It was bare-bones, centered around a 500-ton unmotorized refueling barge, anchored at the mouth of Exmouth Gulf. Here, sailors found a strange reprieve from the war—sun, sand, and the bitter sense of isolation that came with knowing they were part of something secret and dangerous. Admiral James F. Calvert would later write about the base in his memoir, describing its harsh conditions and the daring men who rested there only to return to the dark waters below.

Potshot was also a launching pad for covert operations, such as Z Special Unit’s raid on Japanese shipping in Singapore Harbour in 1943. It was an audacious mission, known as Operation Jaywick, that disrupted enemy supply lines, a thorn in the side of the Japanese navy.

In the years that followed the war, Exmouth grew slowly, as few could imagine life beyond the military. But one local woman, Isla Greene, saw something others did not.

Isla was a guide, part of a small group of locals who had taken to showing tourists the remains of the military base. “There’s a story behind every stone,” she would say, her voice strong but her face lined with the quiet patience of someone who had seen more than most.

One day, Isla stood on a windswept ridge overlooking the Gulf. A small group of tourists, cameras at the ready, huddled close as she told the tale of Potshot. “This place was once alive with the buzz of fighters,” she said. “Men who came here knowing they might not go home. And then,” she paused, “there was the mystery of the submarine.”

A man from the group raised his hand. “What mystery?”

Isla smiled. “Back in ’42, a submarine never came back. The USS Pelican was meant to refuel here. Never made it. No wreckage, no radio signal. Just vanished.”

The tourists exchanged puzzled looks. “What do you think happened?” one asked.

“Two theories,” Isla replied. “One says it was caught by a Japanese sub. Ambushed at night. Never stood a chance. The other—more local—is that it’s still out there. They say it’s stuck in the reef, hidden deep where no one has found it.”

“Has anyone looked?”

“Of course. Many have. But the ocean is a vast thing. It doesn’t give up its secrets so easily.”

Over time, Isla became the unofficial keeper of the town’s history. She knew every rusting remnant of Potshot, every story passed down by old sailors. But there was more to Isla than her tours.

In 2009, something happened that few in Exmouth had ever experienced—a modern brush with disaster. A Qantas flight, QF72, bound for Perth, had to make an emergency landing at the nearby Learmonth Airport. The cause was a failure in the plane’s ADIRU, which confused the angle of attack with altitude, making the aircraft believe it was in a steep pitch. In a panic, the plane forced a sharp nosedive, causing passengers to float weightlessly in the air. No lives were lost, but several were injured.

Isla had been among the passengers. That day changed something in her. She began spending more time alone, walking along the coastline, staring at the sea as though it held answers. When asked, she would only say, “You look at life differently when the earth falls away from under you.”

One evening, a year later, Isla sat at her usual spot near the shore. A young fisherman approached her. “Isla,” he said, “I think I’ve found something.”

She looked up. His face was pale, eyes wide with a mixture of excitement and fear. “Found what?” she asked.

“A wreck. Not far from the reef. It’s big. Could be a sub.”

Isla’s breath caught in her throat. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “I haven’t told anyone yet. Thought you should know first.”

Isla stood slowly. “Take me there.”

The boat ride out to the reef was silent, the air thick with anticipation. As they neared the spot, Isla could see something dark beneath the water. The shape of a submarine—corroded and broken, but unmistakable.

“That’s it,” the fisherman whispered. “The Pelican.”

Isla gazed down at the wreck. Memories of her old tales, her conversations with tourists, flooded her mind. “So it was the reef,” she muttered. “All this time.”

The fisherman frowned. “Or it could’ve been something else. Maybe it wasn’t the reef. Maybe it was attacked, and the ocean just brought it here.”

Isla’s eyes narrowed. “Or maybe the sea just kept it hidden until now.”

The mystery seemed solved, but not entirely. Some would say it was a simple wreck. Others would claim something more sinister—a final ambush, perhaps, hidden under the guise of nature. But for Isla, standing there in the twilight, it was enough to know that one story had come full circle.

“Let’s leave it be,” she said softly. “It’s had its rest.”

As the boat turned back to shore, Isla watched the wreck disappear beneath the waves, where it had always belonged.

Cheng Wei: The Farmer Who Revived Portstone’s Agriculture

Leave a reply

In the late 19th century, the small town of Portstone sat nestled on the edge of a wide river, surrounded by green fields and distant hills. It had begun as a simple port, a stopping point for ships bringing supplies and workers to the nearby mines. But as the mines ran dry, the town found itself needing a new way forward.

Around this time, a group of Chinese immigrants arrived, seeking to make their fortunes in the land. Many had come from the mines, but when the gold was gone, they stayed. They saw potential in the fertile land surrounding the town, where the soil was rich and the water plentiful. Some were ambitious, starting small farms and experimenting with crops like cotton, rice, and sugar.

One man, Cheng Wei, was different. He arrived with nothing but a handful of seeds and a dream. Cheng was no miner; he had worked the fields back home, and he knew that the land could provide. He convinced a few others to join him, and together they began planting vegetables and fruits in small gardens by the river. Within a year, they were supplying the town with much-needed fresh produce. The townspeople, once skeptical, began to see the value in what Cheng and his men were doing.

By the 1880s, Portstone had become known for its farms, and the once-small gardens had grown into vast fields. Sugarcane and bananas flourished under the hot sun, and the town’s market thrived. The Chinese farmers, who now made up more than half of the town’s agricultural workers, began to form a close-knit community. They built homes, opened shops, and even constructed a small temple on the edge of town. A new Chinatown sprang up, where market gardens and small businesses bustled with activity.

But not everyone was happy. Some of the original settlers, who had once relied on mining, felt that the town was slipping away from them. They grumbled about the changes, about how the newcomers seemed to be taking over. Still, the town grew. Portstone became known for its crops, and ships once again docked at the port, this time to load up sacks of sugar and bananas for export.

Amidst all of this, there was a local woman named Ellen Marsh. Ellen had lived in Portstone her entire life. She was a widow, and her small farm sat just outside the town. Like many, she had struggled after the mines dried up, but she was a hard worker and had managed to keep her farm running, even if just barely.

One day, Ellen noticed that her crops were failing. The soil had grown tired, and the plants were weak. She tried everything she knew to fix it, but nothing worked. Then, one evening, as she was walking through the market, she overheard two men speaking in Chinese. They were talking about a method of farming that used something called “compost.” Ellen didn’t understand all of it, but she caught enough to know that it involved returning nutrients to the soil.

The next day, Ellen approached Cheng Wei. She was nervous, as she had never spoken to any of the Chinese farmers before. But Cheng greeted her with a kind smile and listened as she explained her problem. He told her about composting, how it could enrich the soil, and how it was a method his family had used for generations. Ellen was surprised by his willingness to help, but she listened carefully.

For the next few weeks, Cheng and a few others came to Ellen’s farm. They showed her how to gather plant waste and animal manure, how to let it break down, and how to spread it on her fields. At first, Ellen was doubtful. It seemed too simple. But as the weeks passed, her crops began to recover. The soil was healthier, and the plants grew strong.

Ellen was grateful. She began telling others in the town about what she had learned, and soon more people were visiting Cheng’s farm, asking for advice. Ellen and Cheng formed an unlikely friendship, and as more people adopted the new method, tensions between the townspeople and the Chinese farmers began to ease.

One evening, as Ellen sat with Cheng by the river, she asked him, “Why did you help me?”

Cheng looked out over the water, his face thoughtful. “A farmer helps the land, and the land helps the farmer,” he said. “There is no difference between your soil and mine. We all live by what the earth gives.”

Years passed, and Portstone continued to thrive. The town’s reputation for agriculture grew, and the once-small community became a bustling hub of trade. Ellen’s farm flourished, and she became known for her wisdom and hard work. But there was a secret she kept until the end of her days.

When she passed, an old letter was found among her belongings. It was addressed to her son, long lost to the city. In it, Ellen revealed that she had once been offered a fortune to sell her land, not long after Cheng had helped her. But she had refused, knowing that the land was worth more than money. And she had been right.

But the twist? The buyer had been Cheng Wei himself, planning to build a market on her land. He had helped her knowing that, if she refused, the town would prosper more in the long run. He had seen beyond a simple transaction.

In the end, Ellen’s legacy, like Cheng’s, was in what they gave back to the land.

Clara Mason: Proserpine’s Pioneering Businesswoman

Leave a reply

The town of Proserpine had humble beginnings. In 1859, George Elphinstone Dalrymple named the river that flowed through the valley after the Greek town of Proserpine. He saw the land as fertile, like the Greek town, and imagined a future where crops would thrive. He wasn’t wrong.

A few years later, in the early 1860s, the first settlers arrived. Daniel Emmerson established the Proserpine pastoral station. The land was wild, and the settlers faced hardships, but they were determined. Frederick Bode and William Dangar soon followed, taking up land at Bromby Park and Goorganga Creek. Charles Bradley and James Colling established their own properties along the Gregory River. It was a time of claiming, building, and working the land.

The settlers were not alone. The land had long been home to Indigenous people. In 1866, the Native Police patrolled the area, led by Inspectors John Marlow and John Isley. They were tasked with keeping the settlers safe, though their methods were harsh. “Dispersals” were common, a word used to describe violent confrontations with the Indigenous population. These patrols left scars, but they also marked the settlers’ control over the land.

Marlow often stayed at Emmerson’s property, using it as a base. He bought horses from him and planned his expeditions from the station. The settlers needed security, and Marlow provided it. His troopers roamed the land, ensuring that the settlers could farm in peace, though at a terrible cost to the original inhabitants.

As the 1880s approached, the region shifted from pastoral to agricultural. In 1882, the Crystal Brook Sugar Company was established. The company built a sugar mill, and soon the land was covered in cane fields. The work was hard and labor-intensive, so South Sea Islanders were brought in to labor on the plantations. The mill thrived for a time, but in 1893 it closed. Smaller farms took its place, run by white owners. The sugar industry continued, but it looked different now—more personal, more local.

The Story of Clara Mason

In those early days, one woman stood out: Clara Mason. She was not born into wealth or privilege. Her father had come to Proserpine looking for work at the sugar mill, and Clara grew up in the shadow of the towering cane fields.

Clara had a different vision for her life. She didn’t want to spend her days in the fields like many others. Instead, she started her own business—something unheard of for a woman at the time. She opened a small shop, selling goods to both the settlers and the workers. Her shop became a meeting place, a small hub of trade and conversation.

“Why not work the land?” people would ask her. She would smile and reply, “The land is for those who love it. I love people.”

Clara’s shop grew, and so did her influence. She was wise with her words, and people trusted her. She lent money to families in need, helped negotiate deals between farmers, and provided food on credit to workers during hard times. Clara became a voice of reason in a town that was often divided.

One year, during a terrible drought, the crops began to fail. The farmers were desperate. Some considered leaving the town altogether, but Clara had an idea. She gathered the town leaders and said, “If we pool what we have, we can make it through.”

“That won’t work,” someone said. “There isn’t enough.”

“Enough for one is enough for all, if we share wisely,” Clara replied.

It was a simple idea, but it resonated. The town came together, sharing water, food, and labor. It wasn’t easy, but they made it through the drought. Clara’s leadership during that time became a local legend.

After the drought, Clara’s shop became even more important. She didn’t just sell goods; she offered advice and helped settle disputes. Farmers would come to her for guidance before making decisions. Workers trusted her to be fair. Over time, people started saying, “If Clara says it, it’s true.”

Clara never married, though many men courted her. When asked why, she would laugh and say, “My heart belongs to this town.”

In her later years, Clara began teaching young girls how to run businesses. “You don’t need a husband to make a living,” she would tell them. “You need courage, and a mind that sees opportunity.”

Clara Mason passed away in 1905, but her legacy lived on. Her shop became a community center, and the values she instilled—fairness, hard work, and community—continued to shape the town. Today, Proserpine remembers her not just as a businesswoman but as a leader, someone who saw the potential in people and in the land.

Proserpine grew over the years, its sugar industry thriving and its people building on the foundations laid by those early settlers. But it was people like Clara, with vision and wisdom, who made it more than just a place to live—they made it a community.