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Yella Jimmy
by
Colin W. Wurth
Part 1
A short story of a distant past
My earliest memories of old Tim were of
a five-year-old boy watching him approach our house in the
bush that surrounded our house in the bush. He walked with
well-practiced gait and usually was carrying an old cane basket
that I always knew was brimming with fruit from his garden.
Recollections of Tim this way was always a welcome sight,
not because of the fruit I knew he bought but his genuine,
openhearted friendliness of his approach as a smile would
break out upon his face as he received my innocent and joyful
welcome.
Tim was a man about sixty; he had weather-beaten, craggy features
that when he smiled exposed a huge set of teeth that seemed
to fit so well his wrinkled suntanned face. He was a retired
opal miner who lived a solitary life about a mile or so from
our house in the country, his visits were always welcomed
by my father and mother as well but no more than myself. His
stories of his past had something for all, the early days
of his never-ending quests for his beloved opal in the harsh
regions of the Australian outback; stories of hardship and
wonder and of opal that lured him to the places it called
home. His enthusiasm for the stone was in a way infectious
and he always maintained he had an incurable case of '' opal
fever''.
My father was not noted for his understanding of anything
that did not contribute to the families fortune but I always
sensed in him an interest which was one of interest, he was
an interested listener to Tim's world although he had no experience
of the harsh regions Tim described and this gave a five year
old boy a veracity for Tim's words and stories.
Going to places that Tim described were no mean feats in those
days, planning and knowledge of the unforgiving country was
well known, its ability to rob individuals of their purpose
if not their lives was a fact appreciated by most. Tim was
a religious man but the world he talked about was not connected
to his beliefs, he was an adventurer who had always took his
own destiny in his own private way, he expected no favors
from the country that so many people had thought that god
had deserted.
The years unfolded with the pattern of Tim's stories and to
a small boy wonders extended, Tim became increasingly a part
of my life, I would sit and listen with an interest I am sure
he didn't realize I had, his stories I think were being told
to my parents and I don't think he knew his words and dreams
were being stored by an inquiring and imaginative mind. Tim's
stories were many but there was always one that was constant
and somehow he always came back to, it was of a lost opal
mine called, '' yella jimmy'' it always seemed to interrupt
his other stories, it was obvious he had a mild sort of obsession
with subject and his conviction of the story never wavered
over the years, his conviction of Its location was constant
and I remember the change that would come over him as he told
the story which he never tired of telling, he would however
only give vague description of the country where he claimed
it was and this seemed to fuel some doubt in my father who
although gave the story more veracity than I had seen him
do with many other things, even at that early age I knew my
father to be somewhat of a cynic .
The mine '' yella jimmy'' Tim would say over the years, ''
has the most beautiful opal in Queensland and it is the only
place in the world where black opal can be found,'' my father
would look at him with a doubting look, not convinced but
still I could see interest in his words, probably it was Tim's
conviction in them that swayed his half hearted belief. He
would look at him in a way that spoke of his thoughts that
this was a last forlorn dream of a disappointed old man, he
would quiz Tim with questions that couldn't mean much as he
had no knowledge of the hostile country that occupied the
story and less knowledge of the desert gem opal but he would
always listen, a vague sort of belief was somewhere in him.
Tim's story was simple, prior to the first world war two of
Tim's friends, ones that he had met on his never-ending quests
for the gem, had found a mine in a remote and hostile region
of the outback, they mined it successfully for some time before
life's nesceeties and the need to realize some money on their
find took them to the far-off capital of Brisbane where they
were when the outbreak of the war occurred. Being loyal citizens
of the empire they didn't hesitate to enlist, they knew the
location of the mine and they understood that it would wait
while the attended to their patriotic duties. They were gratefully
accepted and were soon shipped overseas where they ended up
in France, my fathers interest would always heighten at this
point because he was a knowledgeable person in the history
of those times and could not fault Tim as to time or details
of their embarkation or destination. One of the men consequently
lost his life in France and the other sustained severe injuries
which included the loss of a leg so when he eventually returned
home the prospect of venturing into the hostile world of his
mine was virtually impossible although he guarded the secret
of its location that was a testament to its veracity. Several
expeditions were mooted but for various reasons of either
distrust or finance they were never realized, the location
of the mine was a task for fully fit young men and resources
were needed to survive the harsh country and water was another
barrier, the beautiful gem had little meaning without water
and its ability to steal a persons life, distance was another
tyrant and protector of the beautiful stone. so time went
by and Tim came closer to the story through his friend and
finally with complications of his wounds taking a final effect
on him he told Tim of its exact location, the last gasp of
a dying friend, a secret that would be useless to him on his
final journey .
Tim held the secret dearly. He knew and trusted his friends
deeply and gave the story a veracity that was convincing to
anyone with a knowledge of him, the story he had told over
the years gave it a compelling ring of truth and his reluctance
to tell just anybody indeed reinforced the faith he had in
his friends and although he could have formed partnerships
over the years he had never found the person or people he
thought worthy of the knowledge as well as droughts coming
and going over the period presented obstacles that few city
dwellers could understand , opal for all its beauty held little
meaning to people when they were dying of thirst .
The years wore on and Tim aged and even diminished a little
in resolve, he understood that to reach his mine would take
a great degree of organization and people with youth, I was,
in his eyes far to young to risk such a venture and he had
long ago decided that my father did not have sufficient confidence
to undertake such a project, but still the thought of the
distant mine baking in the fierce sun while shielding the
beautiful opal from the eyes of men remained in him, a diminishing
dream of tired old man. Tim probably didn't realize that the
stories he had told so often over the years were recorded
so faithfully by young ears that were mine, he had become
used to cynicism, it was the dawning of that age and Tim was
often seen as a relic of an unreliable past, given to dreaming
his past into the present, a joke if you like, be kind, he
is harmless and he wore this with what I always felt was the
confidence of truth and consequently my thoughts ran differently.
Finally when I was fifteen life beckoned, talking hard to
my parents for abandoning further education to get on with
what I saw as the real life I left home and went to the city
to work, I lost some contact with my lifelong friend tim,
after ten years occasional visits and letters were the only
contact and as with all youth life was full of bustle and
there was little time to think of childhood dreams, this stayed
with me for about two years when once again I remebered his
stories and then being in a more positive position including
a finacial one and located in the city I began to disc0over
rescources that tim could only have dreamed of , books, army
maps , general study of the vast area and many other aspects
of his stories . The more I collated information the more
it became obvious to me that Tim's dream was no dream, his
descriptions were accurate given his limited knowledge of
the times, although if he were a younger man I had no doubt
he could walk straight to the mine, the directions the men
gave him were probably more detailed than he ever told but
his was bushman's knowledge and didn't have the luxury of
detailed maps and information that now flowed around government
and other sources. The only directions he gave were loose,
the mine was situated south of a deserted opal mining town
of opalton and east of an abandoned homestead called Maynside,
an area so vast a person could spend his life searching and
still be miles from it at the end, at this time in our irregular
meetings and letter's Tim began to give me more accurate yet
primitive directions for although I was seventeen, Tim was
getting older in looks and spirit but my interest always seemed
to spark something in him, at the moment I didn't know why
, I was not fully acquainted with my fellow mans reason at
that point in my life . Tim would tell me that the mine was
located on the eastern side of a range of hills that ran in
a north south direction and directly opposite the mine there
was a producing mine of medium quality opal, but Tim's mine
produced a black opal, so fiery that when the two friends
had taken a parcel of it to Brisbane in their final and fateful
trip they had sold it at the beat price obtainable at the
time, indeed most of it went to collectors of the gem, a sure
indication of its quality. The depth of the opal as it lay
in its moist home was only three feet, similar to the known
mine over the other side of the range, the most telling point
he had told me in those years was that on a clear day you
could se the homestead at maynside, this was a direction in
bushman's terms which gave good indications only if a more
detailed study along with a belief of the site had been made,
the dream of Tim's had become a mild obsession with me, while
other boys of my age were engaged in the usual sort of activities
I was a little bit like Tim , I was on a lonely quest that
nobody understood , I was warned continuously that the perils
of travel to that world was a risk to life , I was told by
most it was an impossibility and tales of lost dreams and
people abounded with a frequency that should have dissuaded
the strongest believer but to me they were founded on false
understanding and lack of individual spirit and consequently
fell on deaf ears which were described by most as an indication
of my youthful foolishness .
During the course of this time I did meet
one man who took the story seriously, he was an Hungarian
who indeed had some experience in arid and hostile regions
and at first his interest was a revelation to me when 9 told
him a broad outline of the story, his enthusiasm was so great
he arranged for us to meet Tim and with goodwill one day we
went to Tim and when I had introduced him to my friend he
shut up about the mine like the proverbial clam, gone was
his optimism to be replaced by doubt and slight cynicism,
his attitude was not only a surprise to my youthful expectation
of the meeting but a blow of great proportions , I can remember
studying him and thinking I had been led on a chase, Tim's
story was different than the one that over the years I had
become accustomed to and believed with such conviction , finally
the man left, no doubt feeling that the proposition was just
as others thought , the unfulfilled dreams of a dying man,
no sooner had his car disappeared than Tim invited me into
his strange little house that he himself had built , his attitude
seemed different now, he talked at length about people , the
world , and trust, it was obvious he had seen something in
the man that my inexperienced eyes had not , we talked for
a long time and I remember feeling relieved , I understood
the reasons for his reticence in the presence of the other
man , I realized that our family and myself in particular
had been told more of his dream than he had to anybody else
in this world and again my confidence returned but this time
with more conviction mixed with a little pride . Tim and I
talked at length that day, he was impressed I had done the
things I had, he would question and occasionally smile at
my unbridled enthusiasm and in my later years I would remember
a wistfullness that was although slight very visible, it was
if Tim was in another world, he was not the jovial character
of my childhood and I suppose I was beginning to see him with
adult eyes and he to seeing me as an emerging adult as well
and memories of that last meeting remain with me till this
very day , we parted as usual as good friends, I remember
walking down the dusty road that led from his house surrounded
by trees and as I topped the rise which would take it from
view ,one last wave to the solitary figure standing so starkly
at the gate I remembered his arm stretched motionless in the
air, and then forward back to my life and leaving his .
To
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