As I’m working on my romantic fantasy novel series (Fae of the Crystal Palace) set around the Great Exhibition, I wanted to share some interesting stories I’ve uncovered during my research. Here is an article about opium usage in Britain at the time.
In Victorian England, opium was both a mysterious allure and a societal blight. The image of opium dens, often portrayed in literature and newspapers, conjured visions of dark, exotic places filled with danger and depravity. These dens, particularly in London’s East End and docklands, were often the haunt of sailors and the destitute who had succumbed to addiction. The reality, however, was less widespread than the sensationalist accounts suggested.
Opium use in England wasn’t limited to seedy underworlds. It was a common part of daily life, found in household remedies and available over the counter in chemist shops. The most popular form, laudanum – a tincture of opium and alcohol – was touted as a cure-all for ailments ranging from coughs to “women’s troubles.” Even children were not spared, with opium-laced concoctions like Godfrey’s Cordial given to infants to keep them quiet, often with tragic results.
Despite growing awareness of its addictive properties, opium’s grip on Victorian society was strong. This addiction wasn’t just a British problem, though. The First Opium War (1839-1842) highlighted the darker side of the British Empire’s global reach. Britain, desperate to balance its trade deficit with China, flooded the country with opium, exacerbating a national addiction crisis among the Chinese. When the Chinese authorities attempted to curb the trade, tensions escalated into war. The conflict ended with the Treaty of Nanking, which forced China to cede Hong Kong to Britain and pay a hefty indemnity, while leaving the opium trade largely unaddressed.
Tea, seemingly innocent, played a pivotal role in the origins of the First Opium War. By the 18th century, tea had become a national obsession in Britain, transforming the daily lives and customs of its people. However, this new addiction came at a high cost. Britain’s insatiable demand for tea from China led to a severe trade imbalance, with silver flowing out of Britain at an alarming rate to pay for the precious leaves. Desperate to reverse this trade deficit, Britain turned to opium, cultivated in its Indian colonies, as a solution. By exporting opium to China, the British sought to exchange the drug for silver, which could then be used to buy tea. This strategy not only worsened China’s opium crisis but also set the stage for the eventual military conflict.
The moral complexities of the opium trade cast a long shadow over Britain’s self-image as a global leader in civility and progress. While the British public decried the opium-smoking habits of the Chinese, they often turned a blind eye to their own widespread consumption of the drug in various forms.
As the 19th century drew to a close, the tide began to turn against opium. The growing anti-opium movement, bolstered by the efforts of reformers and religious groups, eventually led to stricter regulations. By the early 20th century, Britain agreed to dismantle the India-China opium trade, marking the end of an era. However, the legacy of opium in Victorian England – a blend of fascination, dependency, and moral ambiguity – remains a potent reminder of the complexities of empire and the human cost of addiction.
My characters find themselves in a London opium den in my Fae of the Crystal Palace book The Entangled where they too question the sensationalist reports at the time and the role of Britain in the opium trade.
As I’m working on my romantic fantasy novel series (Fae of the Crystal Palace) set at the time of and around the Great Exhibition of 1851, I wanted to share some interesting stories I’ve uncovered during my research. Here is the story of the Taiping Rebellion.
The Taiping Rebellion is often overshadowed by other historical conflicts but is believed to be the bloodiest civil war in history, claiming the lives of an estimated 20 to 30 million people. Spanning from 1850 to 1864, this tumultuous period reshaped China’s socio-political landscape.
The roots of the rebellion lay in widespread social discontent, economic distress and growing influence from the West. The Qing dynasty, a Manchu-led regime, faced increasing resentment from the Han Chinese majority, who felt culturally and politically oppressed. The situation was exacerbated by the devastation wrought by the Opium Wars and the humiliating concessions forced upon China by the Western victors.
The rebellion’s leader, Hong Xiuquan, was a failed civil service candidate who experienced a series of visions in which he believed himself to be the younger brother of Jesus Christ. Influenced by Christian teachings, he founded the God Worshippers’ Society, attracting a following among the impoverished peasants and the marginalised Hakka ethnic group. Hong’s teachings combined a rejection of traditional Chinese religions with a vision of communal property and an egalitarian society.
In 1851, Hong declared the establishment of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, proclaiming himself the Heavenly King. The movement’s early successes saw the capture of significant territories, including the major city of Nanjing, which became the capital of the Taiping Kingdom. The Taiping forces, numbering in the millions, included a notable number of female soldiers, a rarity in the era.
Despite initial triumphs, the rebellion eventually faltered due to internal power struggles, strategic missteps, and the eventual intervention of Western powers siding with the Qing dynasty. By 1864, the combined forces of the Qing and foreign allies besieged Nanjing, leading to Hong Xiuquan’s mysterious death – rumoured to be either by suicide or assassination – and the ultimate collapse of the Taiping regime.
The Taiping Rebellion left an indelible mark on China, contributing to the fall of the Qing dynasty and influencing subsequent revolutionary movements.
The leader of the Taiping Rebellion was the inspiration behind Chen in my Fae of the Crystal Palace book The Entangled.
As I’m working on my romantic fantasy novel series (Fae of the Crystal Palace) set at the time of and around the Great Exhibition of 1851, I wanted to share some interesting stories I’ve uncovered during my research. Here is the Porcelain Tower of Nanjing.
One of the most significant buildings constructed in the early Ming Dynasty was the Porcelain Tower of Nanjing. An architectural marvel, the Porcelain Tower, known as Bao’ensi (Temple of Gratitude) was considered by some as one of the Seven Wonders of the Medieval World. This magnificent structure was commissioned by Emperor Yongle in honour of his parents. French mathematician Le Comte once described it as the “best contrived and noblest structure of all the East”.
Construction of the tower began in 1412 and took seven years to complete. Originally intended to reach 100 metres with 13 storeys, the tower was completed at nine storeys and stood at a towering 80 metres. Despite not being the tallest pagoda in China, it was renowned for its beauty, largely due to the unique material used in its construction – porcelain.
The Porcelain Tower’s exterior was lined with white porcelain bricks that shimmered in the sunlight, creating a dazzling effect. The bricks were adorned with colourful glazes depicting animals, flowers, landscapes and Buddhist scenes. The pagoda’s octagonal base and copper sphere atop its roof added to its striking appearance.
A spiral staircase of 190 steps led to the top, where 140 lamps illuminated the tower at night, making it even more breathtaking. Dragons’ heads adorned the roof of the ninth storey. The Porcelain Tower quickly gained fame both within China and abroad, inspiring pagodas in Europe, including the Great Pagoda in London’s Kew Gardens.
Another interesting aspect of the Porcelain Tower was the collection of sacred and valuable items housed in its roof. Among these were a large gold rod and silver, a mirror weighing 100 catties (around 60kg), a precious gem, cash, silk of Imperial yellow and several texts. These relics were believed to offer protection and blessing to the tower and its visitors.
However, the tower’s history was tumultuous. In 1801, a lightning strike damaged the top three storeys, which were subsequently restored. The real destruction came during the Taiping Rebellion in the early 1850s. Fearing its strategic use as an observation post, rebels dismantled the inner staircase and, in 1856, demolished the tower completely. The exact reasons for the final destruction remain unclear, but the structure’s end marked the loss of a cultural and architectural treasure.
Today, remnants of the Porcelain Tower can be found in the Nanjing Museum, and there are ongoing efforts to reconstruct this lost wonder.
Both the Porcelain Tower of Nanjing, and the Great Pagoda at Kew Gardens it inspired, feature in my Fae of the Crystal Palace book The Entangled.
As I’m working on my romantic fantasy novel series (Fae of the Crystal Palace) set around the Great Exhibition, I wanted to share some interesting stories I’ve uncovered during my research. Here is the story of Samuel Colt and his revolving pistols.
In 1851, the Great Exhibition in London showcased the technological marvels of the era. The Crystal Palace in Hyde Park was a beacon of innovation, drawing millions of visitors. Among the most talked-about exhibits was an American invention that captivated the crowds with its ingenuity and potential for revolutionising firearms – the Colt revolver.
Samuel Colt, was described as a charismatic figure – a robust, fast-talking industrialist from Connecticut, who held his audience spellbound at the Exhibition as he demonstrated his groundbreaking revolving pistol. This pistol could fire six shots in rapid succession without the need to reload, a feat that seemed almost magical to the onlookers. But Colt’s showmanship didn’t end there; he astonished the crowd by assembling the revolver from randomly selected parts, showcasing the precision and uniformity of its machined components.
Samuel Colt embodied the quintessential American entrepreneur of the time – bold, confident, and fiercely innovative. Remarkably just five years prior, he was a failed businessman and was also considered a controversial figure with some accounts saying he was more marketer than inventor. Born in 1814 near Hartford, Connecticut, Colt’s early life was a series of ups and downs, marked by financial instability and a penchant for pyrotechnic experiments that often led to trouble. This all changed when he conceptualised the revolver, an idea that would dominate his life and legacy.
The revolver addressed a centuries-old problem in firearms technology: the cumbersome reloading process. Colt’s solution was a rotating cylinder that aligned each chamber with the barrel, allowing for multiple shots before reloading. This innovation not only enhanced the efficiency of firearms but also heralded a new era in manufacturing. Colt’s approach relied heavily on machine-made parts, laying the groundwork for the age of mass production.
By the time of the Great Exhibition, Colt’s factory in Hartford was producing thousands of revolvers annually. His .31-caliber pocket pistol was particularly popular, and demand for his weapons soared, driven by military conflicts and expanding frontiers. Colt’s method of manufacturing with interchangeable parts not only revolutionised firearms production but also influenced broader industrial practices.
Colt’s impact extended far beyond the realm of firearms; he played a pivotal role in shaping the modern industrial landscape. Colt and his revolving pistols sparked the storyline and inspired my American inventor character in my Fae of the Crystal Palace book The Entangled.
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Image credit: Exterior and Interior view of Colt Revolver. Armsmear: the home, the arm, and the armory of Samuel Colt: a memorial. Barnard, Henry, 1866.
As I’m working on my romantic fantasy novel series (Fae of the Crystal Palace) set around the Great Exhibition, I wanted to share some interesting stories I’ve uncovered during my research. Here is the story of Britain’s failed bid for a Chinese Display.
The Great Exhibition of 1851 aimed to showcase the world’s industrial and cultural achievements. Yet, one notable absence spoke volumes about the period’s strained international relations particularly with China. Despite British administrators’ efforts, their inability to secure an official Chinese display revealed the deep-seated tensions between Britain and China in the years between the Opium Wars.
Negotiations to include China in the Exhibition were fraught with difficulties. British representatives tried to engage Chinese elites and merchants to contribute, hoping to promote the virtues of free trade. However, their efforts failed. The strained commercial and political relations of the era, exacerbated by the memory of the First Opium War and the looming Second, left little room for collaboration. Without the active support of Chinese authorities, the task of representing China fell to British and American importers.
The result was a collection of Chinese artefacts that did not genuinely represent the country’s culture. Instead, these displays reflected the Western traders’ perspective – ivory balls, porcelain plates and other curiosities. Prominent figures like Charles Dickens did not hold back in their criticism published in the newspapers and journals of the time. In his writings, Dickens expressed disdain for the exhibition’s Chinese section, deriding it as a showcase of stagnation and despotism compared to Britain’s progressive industrial might. Dickens and his counterparts naturally failed to point out that the exhibit was created by the British.
Dickens’s disappointment at the Chinese display was palpable. He saw the exhibit as static and outdated, contrasting sharply with Britain’s dynamic and innovative spirit. In ‘The Great Exhibition and the Little One‘ he and his subeditor R.H. Horne drew a stark comparison between the two nations. They mocked the intricate yet functionless ivory carvings and porcelain items, juxtaposing them against Britain’s steamships and cotton mills.
The narrative painted China as a nation that had ceased to advance, encapsulated in its ‘laboriously-carved ivory balls’, which they’d have readers believe were beautiful yet useless. This perspective reinforced the Victorian belief in British superiority and the notion that China was a land of despotism and backwardness. The cultural productions of China were not merely foreign; they were seen as inferior and emblematic of a civilisation that had fallen behind.
Dickens’s critique extended beyond mere artefacts. He saw the Chinese displays as a microcosm of the Great Exhibition’s broader challenge: representing a rapidly changing world. In In Dickens’ view, the Chinese artefacts became symbols of an empire that was being outpaced by Western progress.
The failed bid to include China in the Great Exhibition highlights a period of complex and often contentious international relations. It offers a glimpse into the global origins of the Exhibition and the intricate dynamics of cultural representation.
The Chinese display features in my Fae of the Crystal Palace book The Entangled.
As I’m working on my romantic fantasy novel series (Fae of the Crystal Palace) set around the Great Exhibition, I wanted to share some interesting stories I’ve uncovered during my research. Here is the story of a fascinating uninvited guest.
The Great Exhibition of 1851 was, in no uncertain terms, the biggest event of the year – the century perhaps – and its grand opening, like any great party, attracted at least one uninvited guest. This guest is captured in Henry Courtney Selous’s official portrait of the event: an enigmatic figure, dressed in magnificent Chinese robes, standing alongside Queen Victoria, the royal party and members of the peerage. By all appearances he was an official Chinese diplomat but he was in fact nothing of the sort.
Interestingly, no official Chinese delegation attended the opening (thanks to strained relations between Britain and China following the first Opium War), making his presence even more mystifying.
The story goes that at the grand opening, a Chinese man in splendid robes suddenly emerged from the crowd and prostrated himself before Queen Victoria. His grand entrance and dignified manner, coupled with his elaborate costume, gave organisers the impression that he was someone of significant note. Consequently, they placed him between the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Duke of Wellington, cementing his presence in history through numerous portraits of the event.
Some historical accounts identify the man as Hee Sing (also referred to as Hesing or Mr. Xisheng), who happened to be present at the time, and was in fact a sailor or a performer from the Chinese junk, the Keying – the ship having arrived in England in 1848. The Keying was a popular attraction at the time enticing paying visitors with promises of an encounter with “a Mandarin of rank” and Chinese artists who may have been actors or simply members of the Chinese crew recruited to add some authenticity to the attraction.
The Chinese visitor’s identity and the reason for his attendance at the opening still remains a matter of debate among historians, but he is by all standards a fascinating figure. Hee Sing inspired my junk ship captain character, Harry Seng, in The Entangled.
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Image credit: The Opening of the Great Exhibition by Queen Victoria on 1 May 1851
As I’m working on my romantic fantasy novel series (Fae of the Crystal Palace) set around the Great Exhibition, I wanted to share some interesting stories and facts I’ve uncovered during my research. Here is the story of the The Crystal Palace and its creator.
The Crystal Palace
The Crystal Palace was a remarkable architectural achievement that was designed and built to house the Great Exhibition of 1851. Joseph Paxton, who was later knighted, was a gardener and horticulturist, and famously sketched his design for the palace during a visit to Hyde Park (the sketch is now held in the Victoria and Albert Museum). The sketch included all the key elements of the building, and within a fortnight all calculations and detailed plans were completed.
Joseph Paxton’s first sketch for the Great Exhibition Building, circa 1850, using pen and ink on blotting paper; Victoria and Albert Museum
The Crystal Palace was a large, modular building made of iron and glass, and was one of the first examples of prefabricated architecture. Paxton used prefabricated components, such as cast iron girders and glazed panels, that were manufactured off-site and then assembled on-site. This allowed for a much faster construction process than traditional building methods.
The building was designed to maximise the amount of natural light that could enter the space, with a high vaulted roof made of glass and iron. It was described in newspapers at the time as having the appearance of a “fairy palace”.
One of the most innovative features of the Crystal Palace was its modular design. The building could be easily disassembled and reassembled, allowing the Crystal Palace to be moved to a new location after the Great Exhibition. The building was eventually relocated to Sydenham, south London, where it was expanded and became a popular tourist attraction until it was destroyed by a fire in 1936.
Overall, Joseph Paxton’s Crystal Palace was a revolutionary achievement in architecture and engineering, showcasing the innovative use of prefabrication and natural light in building design. It remains a symbol of British industrial and technological progress, and its legacy can still be seen in modern architecture today.
Joseph Paxton
In The Charmed (my first Fae of the Crystal Palace series book), Alice meets the famous Mr Paxton, who who becomes a recurring character in the novel.
Joseph Paxton by Octavius Oakley, c1850 (public domain image)
Paxton is one of the only characters in the book based on a real historical figure. He was synonymous of course with The Crystal Palace and The Great Exhibition, and overall a fascinating figure.
Joseph Paxton (1803-1865) was an English horticulturist, architect and designer. He began his career as a gardener’s apprentice at the age of 15 and quickly rose through the ranks to become head gardener at the Chatsworth estate in Derbyshire. He was known for his innovative horticultural techniques and designs, which earned him a reputation as one of the foremost gardeners of his time.
In addition to his work in horticulture, Paxton was also an accomplished architect and designer. He designed several buildings, including the Great Conservatory at Chatsworth, which was the largest glasshouse in the world at the time. He also designed several parks and gardens, including Birkenhead Park, which was the first publicly funded park in the world.
Paxton’s most famous design is undoubtedly the Crystal Palace. After the success of the Crystal Palace, Paxton continued to work as an architect and designer, and was involved in several other notable projects, including the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew and the design of the London sewer system.
Paxton was also involved in politics and was elected to Parliament as a Member of Parliament for Coventry in 1854. He was knighted in 1851 for his work on the Crystal Palace, and was made a Baronet in 1856.
Overall, Joseph Paxton was a versatile and talented designer and innovator, who made significant contributions to the fields of horticulture, architecture and engineering. His legacy can still be seen in modern building design and landscaping techniques today.
My portrayal of Paxton is based purely on my imagination as is my fictional idea that he may have been inspired by a fairy palace (see my origins story The Pledge for a cameo from Paxton, you should be able to spot him by his signature sideburns).
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As I’m working on my romantic fantasy novel series (Fae of the Crystal Palace) set around the Great Exhibition, I wanted to share some interesting stories I’ve uncovered during my research. Here is the story of the Keying.
In the vibrant tapestry of the 19th century, the Chinese Junk Ship Keying emerges as a captivating tale, carving its way through the Seven Seas to Victorian England in 1848.
As the Keying sailed into the East India Docks, it became an instant sensation, an exotic marvel against the industrial backdrop of the city. The 800-ton Chinese junk, with its distinctive three masts and eye-catching design, is believed to be one of the first Chinese vessels to visit England. Its arrival coincided with a time of unprecedented curiosity about the world beyond British shores and it remained a side attraction during the Great Exhibition of 1851.
The East India Docks at Blackwall was the initial harbour for the Keying, and curious seekers flocked to it, eager to catch a glimpse of this extraordinary ship that had voyaged from the Far East. For a shilling, visitors could step into a world filled with the aroma of foreign spices and the allure of the mysterious East.
One can only imagine the scenes as Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, accompanied by a royal entourage, made their way to Blackwall to inspect the Chinese junk. The royal party’s journey, as documented in the press of the time, drew crowds along the route, and the arrival at the East India Docks was met with tumultuous cheering. The Queen’s excitement as she explored the junk’s deck, marked by the running up of the Royal Standard of England by the Chinese sailors was widely reported.
The Keying opened its doors to the public, offering a unique and immersive experience. Gorgeously furnished in the style of the Celestial Empire, the interior showcased a collection of Chinese curiosities that fueled the Victorian fascination with the East. Thousands flocked to board the ship daily. The ship’s exhibition became a social event, attracting both the curious and the aristocratic.
Leaflets enticed visitors with promises of an encounter with a Mandarin of rank, a renowned Chinese artist, and the chance to explore a vessel that had journeyed across oceans.
The Keying’s journey began in 1846 when a group of British investors clandestinely purchased the Chinese junk in Hong Kong. Despite a Chinese law prohibiting the sale of their ships to foreigners, the Keying set sail for London under the command of a British Captain with a crew of both British and Chinese sailors.
The journey of the Keying was no ordinary maritime venture. Already a century old, the junk sailed to New York City, where it arrived in 1847. It soon became a spectacle for curious onlookers, drawing crowds and fascination. Famed showman, P. T. Barnum had a copy of Keying built in Hoboken (there are reports that he claimed he had it towed from China), and exhibited it with a crew that may have included some of the Keying Chinese.
The Keying wasn’t without challenges. There were legal disputes over unpaid wages for the Chinese crew in New York leading to many of the sailors leaving. Undeterred, the Keying continued its journey to London.
Interest in the Keying waned over time, and the vessel was eventually sold and towed to the river Mersey near Liverpool in 1853. Moored at the Rock Ferry slipway, it continued to be exhibited for public viewing before being dismantled.
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Image details: Keying in 1848. Public domain image – Rock Bros & Payne, National Maritime Museum, Greenwich, London
‘…A tree is only as strong as the forest that surrounds it.’
The Hidden Life of Trees, Peter Wohlleben
The undergrowth crackles deliciously under Jaany’s bare feet. Each step is practised, honed by the teachings of her uncles and aunties, guided by the ancestors with whom she walks. Her steps are light yet sure. Beneath her carefree exterior is a knowing – a mindfulness, a respect for Country, an ability to leave no trace. She walks the same land that her people, the Gumbaynggirr, have lived upon and nurtured for tens of thousands of years. The land of Boorimbah. The land of the Big River.
From her vantage point on the tree-cloaked hill, she catches glimpses of Boorimbah snaking its way through the landscape below. Pure and plentiful, Boorimbah flows through valleys flanked by rugged peaks and dense forests, calm and unhurried as if time itself has slowed to match its laidback rhythm. Jaany and her family camp on its banks in nguura made of bark and boughs. Highly attuned to nature’s signals, they follow the seasons and the food. A simple blossom or other change will tell them that it’s time to gather at the coast and fish for buluunggal on their annual run or that wirriiga are at their best for eating. This is the way of her people.
By the river, the old folk yarn and the aunties weave ngulany made from grass and the bark of the maluga. This morning, Jaany had suggested she go look for raspberries – none of them could refuse the sweet treat. It wasn’t that Jaany avoided hard work, there was just nowhere she’d rather be than among the trees.
She ventures further into the bush and draws a deep breath, letting the aromatic blend of eucalyptus and the earthy scents from the forest floor fill her lungs. A dreamy smile comes to her lips.
A chorus of birdsongs embraces her with the melody of warbling ngaambul and chattering lorikeets, accompanied by the constant hum of dugaburiny. Her smile widens into a grin.
The gentle breath of the wind caresses the canopy above releasing a shower of leaves. They swirl in a graceful descent like the ice that sometimes falls from the sky further up the mountains in Gumbaynggirr country. Jaany’s hand glides across the bark of a wuruuman.ga, its oozing blood-red sap a valuable antiseptic and dye. She winces as her little finger catches on the tree’s scaly skin, and her chest swells with pride.
Jaany stares down at where the tip of her little finger used to be. As is the tradition of her people when a girl comes of age, cobweb was tightly wound around her finger for a month or so until the tip was severed.
It is a physical declaration of her place in the tribe and her belonging. Coupled with her connection to Country and community, Jaany’s heart is full. She feels complete.
Everything is as it’s always been and always will be.
A flutter of black and white feathers bursts into view and a ganyjarr-ganyjarr lands on the ground. Jaany’s heart stills for a moment. The ganyjarr-ganyjarr is her mob’s messenger bird. Its chirping and dancing a message from the ancestors. It’s a bringer of news. Sometimes good news. Sometimes…
The ganyjarr-ganyjarr dances for her. There is an urgency in its movement. It speaks to her with an insistent ‘chit-chit-chit’. A sudden chill threads through her spine.
Jaany stands taller. Alert. She trains her eyes and ears to the forest. She spots nothing amiss.
Cautiously, carefully, she goes deeper into the forest, away from the ganyjarr-ganyjarr who watches her in silence now the message has been delivered. She doesn’t notice as he bows his head and heaves a protracted breath before flying in the opposite direction.
With each step, the birdsongs fade away into an eerie nothingness. Only the hum of dugaburiny remains. Just when Jaany can’t bear the quiet for a moment longer a sharp noise splinters the air. Then another and another in quick succession. Abrupt thuds are followed by creaking and cracking in a haunting cadence that is not of this place.
Jaany presses forward, creeping through the tangled forest growth. She follows a trail of broken twigs and disturbed grass toward the source of the sound.
An otherworldly scene unfolds in front of her, stealing the air from her chest.
From her hiding spot among the trees, Jaany sees three men dressed in strange clothing that covers every limb, a stark contrast to the simple possum skin apron she sometimes wears. But this isn’t the oddest thing about their appearance. The men’s skin is as white as the feathers of the gayaarr and they wear hair on their faces. One of them has hair as gold as the gayaarr’s crest.
Jaany has heard the stories from mobs downriver of the pale-faced men who sailed up the Boorimbah in gigantic rumbling boats with posts supporting masses of billowing cloth and at their centre hollow trunks that spewed smoke into the air. They came in search of the jilnguungga and its prized timber.
The jilnguungga! It is the source of the noise.
The trio of men are felling one of the giants of the forest. A tree whose lifetime has spanned generations of Jaany’s family. Above the buttressed roots that rise beyond the height of the nearest man, they have cut wedges from the tree trunk and inserted timber planks to stand on. Two of them stand on the planks swinging what looks like axes, but different to the stone-bladed tools Jaany is familiar with. The blades of these axes glint in the sun, their sharp edges carving through the trunk with ease. They make notch after notch until the man on the ground signals for one of the men to descend. The remaining man on the plank delivers the final blow.
The jilnguungga crashes through the branches of its neighbours hitting the ground with an earth-shattering thud. The sound reverberates through the forest echoing the shudders in Jaany’s heart. In that moment she is acutely aware that something more than the jilnguungga’s life has ended. She also knows that with every ending, there is always a beginning.
The above story is a fictional account inspired by my great-great-great grandmother, Jenny Olive. Jenny was a Gumbaynggirr woman with ties also to the Bundjalung people. We know very little of Jenny and don’t know what her Aboriginal name was. So I have taken the liberty of giving her a Gumbaynggirr name for this story. Jaany means ‘some’ and is the base form of the word ‘someone’.
Jenny (Jaany) is someone to me. She is where I will start my personal family history book and is key to a novel I am working on that is inspired by this history.
The facts that I base the above story on are that other than a handful of escaped convicts, the first white people that came to the Clarence were timber getters in the late 1830s and early 1840s. Jenny would most likely have been a teenager or young woman at the time the timber getters reached the upper Clarence where her mob lived.
I have no reason to believe Jenny encountered timber getters in the way I have described but I chose this fictional event as a significant turning point not just in the history of the Clarence Valley but also my own family history.
Among my ancestors I count the Gumbaynggirr, Bundjalung and Kamilaroi people, but also English settlers, farmers, former convicts and a French miner, all who were drawn to the area by thriving industries and opportunities that began with the discovery of Australian red cedar, jilnguungga. Referred to as red gold, jilnguungga was strong, durable and resistant to pests and rot. It was used for boat-building, fencing, furniture and formation work under roadways.
Simply put, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for the jilnguungga. As a result, my family history like this country’s history is complicated. This story is my way of honouring where I have come from and Jenny Olive who I wish I knew more about.
Many elements of the story are based on fact, my own research and contemporary accounts including the descriptions of how the Gumbaynggirr people lived in the Yulgilbar area in the 1840s, what they ate, what they hunted and the signals they followed in nature and the seasons.
The reference to Jaany’s little finger being severed and the technique used to do so comes from an Aboriginal cultural heritage study and a record of an interview with the grandson of Mary Olive (Jenny Olive’s daughter), which describes in detail this initiation practice. The record confirms that Mary had undergone this initiation.
The ganyjarr-ganyjarr is considered to be a messenger bird by the Gumbaynggirr people and an Elder described to me that the news being delivered is considered good or bad based on whether the bird’s dancing and chattering appeared agitated or not.
I have drawn the Gumbaynggirr words from The Gumbaynggirr Dictionary and Learner’s Grammar (Bijaarr Jandaygam, Ngaawa Gugaarrigam) by Steve Morelli and published by Muurrbay Aboriginal Language and Cultural Co-operative.
Below you will find the English words for the Gumbaynggirr language I have used in this story. Please note the word I have used for the Clarence River or Big River, Boorimbah, is a Bundjalung word not Gumbaynggirr. The Clarence River traverses Bundjalung, Gumbaynggirr and Yaygirr country. Muurrbay advised me that the Gumbaynggirr word for the Clarence River has been lost, but is known by many other names and variations of spellings including Breimba, Boorimbah, Biirrinba, Ngunitji and Booryimba.
Any factual errors in this story or my account, are my own oversight or because I have taken some artistic licence.
Yulgilbar and the Clarence River where Jenny Olive and her mob were from. Photo by Simon Hughes.
Gumbaynggirr lingo
Jilnguungga – Australian red cedar
Nguura – huts
Buluunggal – mullet
Wirriiga – goanna
Ngulany – dilly-bags)
Maluga – cottonwood hibiscus
Ngaambul – magpies
Dugaburiny – cicadas
Wuruuman.ga – red bloodwood tree
Ganyjarr-ganyjarr – willy wagtail
Gayaarr – sulphur-crested cockatoo
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Bullheaded clients full of hot air and BS were her bread and butter.
It was a typical day in the life of PR Queen, Lydia Spinney. She was the maestro of crisis communication, image enhancement and turning setbacks into comebacks.
If you gave Lydia a lemon she wouldn’t turn it into lemonade, she would have you convinced it was a bottle of 1947 Louis Roederer Cristal Brut – “a remarkable cuvée with a silky texture and notes of citrus and honeysuckle”.
This was her gift but it didn’t mean she had to like some of the inflated egos she represented, including the embattled tech start up CEO who’d just stormed out of their meeting.
Accused of a toxic work environment, harassment and intellectual property theft, he hadn’t liked her frank and fearless advice that was absent of any flattery. Especially since she’d flagged that he would need to accept some responsibility for his actions.
Lydia’s mouth twitched in amusement as she watched him barrel through the office like a bull in a china shop. He’d be back and she looked forward to bleeding every billable minute from him.
She turned her attention to the next appointment in her diary. A Zoom call with an Angus and Daisy Bull. There were no other notes.
She started the call and two shadowy figures came into view. ‘Ah, hi. I’m Lydia Spinney and you’re—’
‘We’re Angus and Daisy Bull,’ one of the shadows replied in a baritone voice.
Lydia leaned closer toward the screen and squinted. She couldn’t make out their features. ‘Can you turn some lights on? I like to see who I’m potentially working with.’
‘I told you this was a bad idea,’ a female, presumably Daisy, said in a mournful tone.
‘We need her help,’ Angus responded. There was some shuffling, a click and a flash of bright light.
Lydia blinked as their features came into focus. She blinked again. And again.
A horned bull and a cow stared back at her from large, pensive eyes. The bull wore an Armani suit and a Chanel scarf graced the cow’s neck. Their background was a sprawling stone wall structure that resembled a maze.
Lydia withheld a sigh. ‘Look, I don’t work with people who want to be anonymous. So either remove the avatar filter or we’re done here.’
Daisy rolled her eyes at Angus. ‘I told you so.’
Angus cleared his throat. ‘We’re not using any filters.’
Lydia burst out laughing. ‘Who put you up to this? Was it Rick? Is he still annoyed that he got stuck with the cauliflower steak at the Christmas party after I ordered the last plate of wagyu?’
Daisy visibly shuddered.
‘This isn’t a joke,’ Angus said gruffly. ‘Haven’t you ever met a minotaur before?’
Minotaur? Lydia had seen some things in her time but not any Greek mythological creatures. But now that she thought about it, it wasn’t the strangest thing she’d encountered in her line of work, not by far.
She pondered it for a moment. The pair on the screen clearly had money, so did it matter if they had a few cows loose in the top paddock? Real or not, she’d hear the Bulls out. ‘How can I assist you?’
Angus nodded slowly. ‘You see, Lydia. We’ve been plagued by misconceptions and grievances for far too long. Thanks to centuries of ridiculous and grossly offensive stories, people think we eat humans.’
Daisy sniffed. ‘Which we don’t. We’re herbivores.’
‘And we’re struggling with trespassers who keep turning up at our labyrinth.’ Angus inclined his head toward the structure featured in the background. ‘They turn up with giant balls of twine so they can find their way through the maze.’
Daisy chimed in, ‘And don’t forget the job opportunities. All we get offered are mascot positions and there’s only so many bull-related sports teams to go around.’
Angus’s heavy brow furrowed. ‘I’m just lucky the Chicago Bulls paid as well as they did when I worked with them.’
Lydia furiously took notes on her digital pad.
‘And that’s not the worst of it.’ Daisy flung a disturbingly human-like hand to her chest. ‘We’re getting the blame for climate change too.’
Lydia stopped writing. ‘Climate change?’
Daisy looked down at her lap, her cheeks impossibly appeared aflame.
Angus shifted in his chair. ‘The methane and the like.’
Lydia smothered a laugh and put down her stylus. ‘First things first, let’s work on your public perception. We’ll launch a campaign highlighting your vegan lifestyle, your love for nature, and your commitment to protecting it. We’ll even organise labyrinth tours to educate people about its historical importance.’
Angus and Daisy nodded in agreement. ‘But what about the trespassers?’ Angus asked.
Lydia flashed a sly smile. ‘We’ll deal with that too. We’ll turn your labyrinth into a protected heritage site, making it off-limits to anyone without proper permits. Trust me, no one wants to mess with environmental laws.’
‘But what about the…’ Daisy began in a quiet voice, ‘…you know, the climate stuff?’
Lydia leant back in her chair and smirked. ‘That’s simple. We’ll launch the Minotaur Carbon-Neutral Initiative.’ She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘Carbon credits, a seaweed supplemented diet for you too and we milk it all with a TikTok dance. I’ll have you lauded as climate heroes in no time.’
‘Bullseye!’ Angus bellowed in delight.
A deep, rumbling sound came from Daisy followed by a guttural emission of air.
Angus patted Daisy on the back. ‘She always belches when she’s excited.’
Lydia gave a sympathetic nod. This wasn’t her first rodeo and Minotaurs or not, she’d be able to wrangle them. Bullheaded clients full of hot air and BS were her bread and butter.
To stay in the know about my books and to receive content like this, sign up here. Photo by Edu Jimenez via Pexels.
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