Tag Archives: Fiction

Faith and Discovery: Hamilton’s Early Settlers

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Hamilton was settled by the 4th Waikato Regiment Militia in 1864. Captain William Steele led them. They arrived on the Rangiriri, a small steamboat, on 24 August. As the boat came up the river, the local people stood on the banks, watching quietly. Among the passengers was Teresa Vowless. She held her baby in her arms but passed the child to another woman as they neared the shore. Without a word, she leapt into the river. Teresa wanted to be the first settler to set foot on this new land. Some said it was her faith in God that drove her. She believed she had been led there for a reason.

The land, however, was far from what the settlers expected. Much of it was swamp. They had been promised fertile ground, but many struggled to farm. By 1868, most of the settlers had given up and left. Hamilton’s population dropped from 1,000 to 300. Those who stayed had to rely on faith that somehow, their future would improve. In 1875, hope came in the form of a brickworks that opened in town, offering jobs and a sense that Hamilton could grow. But for many, faith was the only thing keeping them going.

In 1882, Eliza Beckett came to Hamilton. She was a widow with three children, and her life had been hard. After her husband died in an accident, she had little to her name. A distant cousin had told her about Hamilton. “Go there,” they said. “They need workers, and you’ll find a fresh start.” Eliza believed it was God who had guided her path. She had been praying for a way forward.

At first, she found work at the new brickworks, hauling clay. It was back-breaking labor, but she was thankful for the work. “God provides,” she often said, though the men around her didn’t understand why a woman would speak of faith while working in such rough conditions. Eliza saved her wages, trusting that one day, she would leave Hamilton for a better life.

One day, while working, Eliza overheard a conversation between two men. One was Thomas White, a local landowner, and the other was a man she didn’t recognize. He was quiet and spoke with conviction. They were standing by the kiln, talking in low voices. “The land’s no good,” Thomas muttered. “I don’t care what the others say—it’s cursed.”

Eliza listened, intrigued. The quiet man responded calmly. “It’s not the land, Thomas. It’s what lies beneath it. There’s something here—something God has hidden for a reason.”

Eliza pondered his words. That evening, as she prayed with her children before bed, she thought about what she had overheard. She believed that if God had hidden something, it would only be revealed when the time was right.

Days passed, and soon there was talk of a strange discovery. A local worker had uncovered something unusual while digging near the swamp. Eliza couldn’t get the details, but people whispered about it in town. Some said it was an ancient relic. Others spoke of bones. No one seemed to know for sure.

Eliza’s curiosity grew. She believed this might be connected to the conversation she had overheard. One afternoon, as she left the brickworks, she saw Thomas White again. He was standing with a group of men outside the general store. “We should’ve left it alone,” he was saying. “We’ve disturbed something that was meant to stay buried.”

Eliza approached. “What did you find, Mr. White?”

He looked at her, hesitant. “Best not ask, Mrs. Beckett. It’s not for us to know.”

Eliza didn’t push, but later that night, she prayed. She asked for guidance, for God to show her what this discovery meant. The next day, she walked out to the edge of town, to the place where the land was boggy and still. She found the spot where the men had been digging. The ground was freshly disturbed, and Eliza, believing this was God’s way of answering her prayers, began to search.

She found something half-buried in the mud. It was small, heavy, and wrapped in cloth. As she unwrapped it, a strange feeling came over her. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it felt important—holy, even. She believed it was a sign.

A week later, two men came to her door. One was Thomas White. The other was the quiet man from before, his eyes filled with a certain intensity.

“Mrs. Beckett,” Thomas said, “we need to talk.”

Eliza stepped outside, her Bible clutched in one hand. “What about?”

Thomas sighed. “You took something from the ground. We need it back.”

Eliza’s heart raced. “I don’t know what you mean.”

The quiet man stepped forward. “There are two ways to look at this,” he said calmly. “Some believe it’s a blessing, something sacred. Others say it’s dangerous, meant to stay hidden. Which do you believe?”

Eliza stood firm. “I believe God has a plan. If He wanted it hidden, He wouldn’t have let me find it.”

The man nodded. “Perhaps. But not all things revealed are meant for us.”

Eliza prayed that night, holding the strange object close. She asked for wisdom, for a sign that she was doing the right thing. The next day, she returned to the place where she had found the object. There, she felt a stirring in her spirit, something telling her to let go. She knew it was time to return what she had taken.

She found Thomas White in town the following morning. “You were right,” she told him. “It wasn’t meant for me.”

In the end, Eliza understood that what she had found wasn’t a treasure or a curse. It was a test of faith. She had believed God had given it to her, but in truth, He was asking her to trust Him enough to let it go. She had always been faithful, but now, she saw that true faith wasn’t about holding on—it was about surrender.

Hamilton went on, with its struggles and its growth. And Eliza Beckett remained a woman of faith, known for her quiet strength and wisdom. In the end, the object was never spoken of again, but those who knew the story understood its lesson. It was not what was found in the ground that mattered, but what was found in the heart.

The Hidden History of Weipa: Secrets and Displacement

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In 1895, Reverend John Hay set out to establish a mission along the junction of the Embley River and Spring Creek. It was an idea sparked by dreams of spreading faith and order in what seemed to him a wild land. He named the place Weipa, a word he had learned from the locals, which he thought meant “fighting ground.” Whether this translation was true or not, the name stuck, and so did Hay’s mission.

The early days were tough. The land was unforgiving, and the heat seemed relentless. But Hay pressed on, convinced that his purpose was divine. By 1911, the government passed laws that gave total control over the Indigenous people’s lives. The “Protector of Aborigines,” as the title went, held the authority to confine or expel anyone within the reserve. Families were torn apart. Children were forced under the guardianship of the state, their culture slowly eroded.

Years passed, and in 1932, malaria swept through the area, forcing the mission to move. They packed up and relocated to Jessica Point, about 28 kilometers away. The same mission, under a new sky. But the relocation didn’t make life any easier. By then, different groups had been forced into Weipa. Tensions brewed. Cultures mixed, and a slow simmer of conflict became inevitable.

The Discovery

In 1955, something happened that changed the course of Weipa forever. Henry Evans, a geologist with sharp eyes and sharper instincts, discovered something curious about the red cliffs that lined the reserve. The cliffs weren’t just earth and stone. They were rich with bauxite—the ore that produced aluminum. It was a discovery that sparked a frenzy, one that would ripple through the small town for decades.

The government quickly revoked the reserve status of the land. Mining companies like Comalco moved in, backed by legislation that handed over thousands of square kilometers of land. Mining started in 1960, and by 1965, it had reshaped the town. The old mission became known as Weipa South.

Yet, while some celebrated the new economy, many Indigenous residents were displaced, their homes lost to the mines. It was around this time that the local Presbyterian Church stepped away, handing the community over to the Queensland Government. It marked the end of one era and the start of another.

A Local Woman’s Secret

In the midst of this upheaval, a woman named Esther stood out. Born in the mission, she had witnessed the changes firsthand. Esther was known for her quiet strength. She didn’t speak much, but when she did, people listened. She had worked as a nurse during the worst of the malaria outbreak, saving lives when others had fled in fear. Her hands had held dying children, and her eyes had seen the suffering that came with both disease and displacement.

But Esther had a secret.

Years after the mines began to dominate the landscape, a rumor spread through the town. It was said that she had found something strange buried near the cliffs. Some whispered it was gold. Others thought it was something ancient, a relic left by the original inhabitants long before the mission was built.

One evening, Esther confided in her niece, Mara.

“There are things people don’t talk about,” she said. “Things they bury, hoping they’ll stay hidden.”

“What did you find, Auntie?” Mara asked.

Esther looked out toward the cliffs. “I found something that could change everything. Or maybe nothing at all.”

Mara pressed her. But Esther refused to reveal more. Instead, she left the next morning, heading toward the cliffs as she often did, walking slow but with purpose.

The Mystery Unfolds

The mystery of what Esther found near those cliffs lingered for years. Some believed she had hidden the gold and planned to use it to help the people displaced by the mining companies. Others thought she had discovered an artifact that could prove the land belonged to the Indigenous people, giving them a legal right to reclaim it.

In the end, neither story was true.

When Esther passed away, Mara, now an adult, found a small chest hidden in her aunt’s home. Inside was not gold or an artifact but letters. Letters from Reverend Hay, the founder of the mission. The letters revealed something shocking.

Hay had struck a secret deal with the early mining interests. In exchange for his cooperation and the mission’s continued funding, Hay agreed to allow the companies to exploit the land. The mission wasn’t just a place of faith—it had been part of the groundwork for the future mining operations that would uproot the community decades later.

Esther had discovered these letters during her work as a nurse, tucked away in the mission’s records. She had kept them hidden, not knowing what to do with them. If she revealed the truth, it could destroy the legacy of the mission and the people’s trust in their leaders.

In the final twist, Mara realized that Esther, the town’s quiet hero, had also been its villain. By hiding the truth, she had allowed the mining companies to push forward, knowing full well the cost it would have on her people.

The Truth Revealed

In the end, Mara chose to reveal the letters to the community. Some were shocked, others unsurprised. The town had always been a place of secrets. But now, at least, one of them had been brought to light.

And as the dust settled, the town of Weipa moved on, its history more complex than anyone had imagined.

The Mystery of USS Pelican: Exmouth’s Hidden Story

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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.