A Novel Guide to Burrum Heads
Submission for newsletter publication in the next issue of "Don's Dynamite" subject to corroboration, legal review and editorial control by the publisher. All names contained within are rooted in urban myth and legend and any resemblance to persons living or dead entirely coincidental.
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On the Road my Bradshaws Guide told me to follow the Pialba Burrum Heads highway to a small quiet hamlet at the mouth of the Isis River. There we arrived at Brideshead Revisited (aka Burrum Heads) the El Dorado of the South Pacific – an old mining settlement built on the rich seams of the 19th century coal fields but the days of black gold are over. Today the only things dug up in these parts is the odd missing body of a Euro backpacker. Burrum Heads is the cultural centre of the Fraser Coast where the biggest show in town is the annual Desperate & Toothless Ball and charity auction "Drag Night" at the bingo hall. A small town with big secrets where even if you re-marry you still have the same in-laws. A 21st century Salem's Lot awash with satan worshippers, doomsday preppers, flat-earthers, wife swappers, grey gonads (correction, nomads) and the occasional cold case triple murderer from the 1970s not to mention the odd Fraser Coast councillor with a Fuhrer complex. Yep, A-Rolf Hitler is alive and well. Not a place known for its Sense and Sensibility. The only thing missing was a giant burning effigy of The Wicker Man in the main drag.
We made our way along the Riverview Drive to our new age Elizabethan cottage that would be our rest and refuge from our journey. There we met our fellow companion travellers and adventurers, Lord and Lady Gayler, two fellow gypsies of noble birth. What an honour it was to be greeted by the great man - the most widely read and syndicated scribe in these parts since P.L. Travers, but Mary Poppins he ain’t. He has been described as “The Voice of the People” whose public service posts keep blowing the lid off Crime and Punishment wherever it exists. Lawyers want to be him and lawyers’ wives want to be with him. Sure, in his latter lothario years he is more Don Quixote than Don Juan (as self-anointed on his Tinder profile) but he can still run with the young bulls. A shy humble man, in his published memoirs entitled My Brilliant Career he revealed he owed his success to Lady Gayler, but added “how fortunate I was to be Lady Chatterley's Lover and how lucky a wife she too was to feel the full explosive thrust of Don’s Dynamite” to which she replied “that’s true darling, I just wish you had a longer fuse”.
Our mission was to invite ourselves into the underbelly and upper echelons in the Brave New World of Burrum society among all its luminaries for a few days to live among the local townsfolk as one of their own and not reveal our true identity as big city carbon polluting fat cats from Hervey Bay on a weekend bender (I mean weekender). A task we were determined not to fail. In the big chill of early winter we cracked a bottle of champagne and a bottle of cab merlot to celebrate our arrival but we knew to unravel the secrets of this small enclave would be like trying to crack The Da Vinci Code. To blend in, the Dynamite and myself were especially resplendent in our sexy Tommy Bahama beach shirts so if the girls were inclined later in the evening for a little bedroom rodeo then Donny the Midnight Cowboy and I would be rootin' tootin' ready. Speaking of the girls, the only ruse and props required for Les (looking ab fab in her new sexy watermelon cap) & Leanne was an inexhaustible supply of the vino as those two sweetie darlings turn into Patsy & Edina after a couple of snorts. The locals would be none the wiser.
Suddenly there was a Close Encounter of the (Word) Kind when a game of scrabble broke out and it was all on for young and old. Somehow our Wizard of Oz wordsmith Lord Voldemort Gayler (oops, he who must not be named) cleverly got up on the last play and decisively snatched victory from the Jaws of defeat with an outstanding contribution to the English language with “ja”. Pure genius! What a privilege it was to witness such A Beautiful Mind in action. Not since the halcyon days of our former leader, Joh, had I seen such command of our mother tongue. As the cool wintry air rolled in and the midgies came a-callin' we adjourned to the inner sanctum of Ice Station Zebra for the evening. On the TV played a blast from the past as I watched in technicolor a younger me (Yul Brynner) and a better looking younger Donny (Steve McQueen) in The Magnificent Seven. I looked at the Dynamite and he looked at me and we both agreed it was like looking in a mirror...like time had stood still. But now together with Thelma & Louise in the kitchen we were mathematically more akin to the fantastic four. Soon the unmistakable waft of Senora Les’s Spanish fiesta summoned The Hunger Games as a feast of wine and paella filled body and soul. “A meal fit for a king” praised Don (or was it a meal fit for Don King), I don’t know, by then I’d had a few. There were tales of far travelled foreign lands, of canals and barges and cafes, of lovers and legends and the flame-thrower, and of course the fish whisperer - the Pied Piper of the deep.
Saturday we woke from The Big Sleep to the dawn chorus of The Thorn Birds (okay, they were kookaburras) and the fantastic four woke to a day that had Great Expectations. With our hooks and bait and throw lines we headed for the river past the old abandoned houseboat shipwrecked out on Cape Fear. The Dynamite and I (Tom and Huck) knew our shit and were about to tame the mighty Mississippi. My Bradshaws reads “the Isis River, which upon its banks this sleepy town was built, is widely known as Treasure Island for a local phenomenon called the running of the barra. It is said that the barramundi which inhabit these mystical waters afford even the unluckiest and most inexperienced angler a tale to remember”; and it would be me, the fish diviner, The Prince of Tides, that would summon the catch this fateful day knowing full well that with great power comes great responsibility. It must be said there was some scepticism among the crew as to my credentials but in a brief moment of reflection in the tidal waters I thought I heard a distant bell and The Call of the Wild. My reputation as the oracle of the sea was at stake but I was confident in my abilities. I felt like my whole life had been but a preparation for this moment and now I finally understood For Whom the Bell Tolls.
As it turned out the fish were running alright (in the other direction Gone With the Wind) and all that bit on my line that day was hurt Pride and Prejudice. It was in fishing terms a casting clusterfuck! I guess the piper of the deep should have played his magic flute and not blown his own horn. It must be said the tide and the Wind in the Willows and the water temperature and the moon’s phase (and no clue) were all elemental factors that conspired against me and alas there would be no fish on the grill that night cos my catch turned out to be a Catch-22. Okay, it was my The Old Man and the Sea nightmare - not my best Hemmingway moment. Instead, we would be dining on the finest brontosaurus steaks (or were they triceratops?) for our evening repast. Whatever they were, we’d be shittin’ cow for a week! Having returned to our Riverview cottage on the bayou out of the gathering rain clouds past the incoming tide it was time to drown my sorrows with the Grapes of Wrath when, out of the blue, a game of ludo was challenged and accepted. We rolled the dice and threw caution to the wind but things would end badly for me there too. Like a true cajun witch, Les “voodoo mama” Powell put a spell on me and so it was a triumphant return to the winner’s circle for Leanne “Big Easy” Gayler who etched her place in Burrum folklore after the crushing disappointment of her scrabble loss to Bonny Prince Donny the day before. In her victory address the board game queen was heard to remark that she always got lucky in panel vans with fluffy dice and that ludo was no different. Thatta girl! Don's loins stirred and he mused to himself if he rolled the dice once more after a few drinks he too might get lucky. He felt like a young wizard again and, like Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, was keen to summon his magical powers and enter her chamber of secrets!
As it happened we were then cordially invited to Don’s Party. A booze fuelled night of sex and politics – what could go wrong? Well, as it turned out Don suffered catastrophic equipment failure (no, nothing to do with his rod and tackle) but with the DVD player that shit itself and so our sentimental trip down memory lane was not to be. Instead we had to settle for the more sedate Barty Party later in the night from Roland Garros but alas by then I wanted a pash, not Ash. The problem was the Skipper and Ginger and Mary Ann had retired to their rooms for the night so this castaway was left marooned once again on the couch. I felt like Robinson Crusoe. It was late and with all the wine and sea air I was getting cabin fever so I saw an opening to satisfy my wanderlust (turns out it doesn’t mean what I think it did. Just sayin’!). So I bravely snuck into the lion’s den and into my voodoo mama’s bunk but found myself in truly a Dangerous Liaison. You see, this honey badger was counting on The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe malfunction but sadly I had to bid a hasty hoo-roo after she put a hoodoo on the voodoo that she do so well. Instead of sex I got a hex. And so with the Clear and Present Danger of being throat punched, a quick ride on the Midnight Express was wisely aborted. It would seem my sexy Tommy Bahama beach shirt promised more than it could deliver!
Sunday was explorer day and A Tale of Two Cities - no, not London and Paris, but Howard and Torbanlea. My Bradshaws Guide says “the old coal trains still pass this way but these tracks mostly now carry freight and passengers”. Well, Butch and Sundance, agreed our train robbing days were over so we hitched up our wagon and headed west through the historic streets past the old Mundubbera hospital to Brooklyn House onward to Bamboo Land and beyond so that our very own hornbags, Kath & Kim, could stickybeak and critique their way through the Fraser Coast countryside. What a treat it was to hear foxy Les exclaim at Leanne “look at moi” pointing at some One Nation dwelling, and equally the joy of hearing foxy Leanne respond “It’s noice, different and unusual”. Well folks, it doesn’t get any better than that, and so having crossed A Bridge Too Far and reached Howards End we returned to our cabin on the river where we feasted on a bounty of The Cruel Sea. Sadly not a bounty of our own catching but a bounty nonetheless of prawns and wine. I am glad to report folks, on this weekend among friends and colleagues on our ship of fun there would be no Mutiny on the Bounty...but there could be once my humble Novel Guide to Burrum Town gets out!
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Author’s Note: I concede I might have relied heavily on poetic licence and I did have a bit to drink so there might be some Fifty Shades of Grey in this version of events. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. Author reserves the right to chronicle future adventures.
Written: June 2019
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