When Shirley's uncle leaves her a house in his will, she flies in from London. Port Bruce is a remote town in Far North Queensland, and everything is strange to a city girl from England.
The biggest surprise is just how friendly the people are. Everyone is pleased to see her, and ready to help her settle in. Marilyn the country Australian, Tom Bombadil from the bush, Lulu the Thai lady running the cafe, all make her welcome.
Not everyone is friendly, of course, and Shirley gets into trouble with the leader of a local bikie gang. It will take luck and lots of help from her new friends to keep her safe.
The biggest surprise is just how friendly the people are. Everyone is pleased to see her, and ready to help her settle in. Marilyn the country Australian, Tom Bombadil from the bush, Lulu the Thai lady running the cafe, all make her welcome.
Not everyone is friendly, of course, and Shirley gets into trouble with the leader of a local bikie gang. It will take luck and lots of help from her new friends to keep her safe.
For those of us who live here, far north Queensland is a very special place. It is beautiful, of course, and the weather is nearly always kind. Perfect one day, Paradise the next, as the saying goes.
The people are special too. Perhaps the remoteness shapes them, throws them onto their own resources. Whatever the reason, they are welcoming and a stranger will always find a helping hand if needed.
The people are special too. Perhaps the remoteness shapes them, throws them onto their own resources. Whatever the reason, they are welcoming and a stranger will always find a helping hand if needed.
When Shirley first arrived in Port Bruce, she was totally lost. She had no friends there, no-one to turn to and no idea of where to go. All she knew was that her uncle John had died and left her a house.
Of course, she was surprised by Port Bruce and her new house. Everything here is very different from the grey, rainy streets of London. How could it not be?
We don't need much in the way of housing up here. Not far from where I am sitting, I have a friend and his wife whose house consists of one wall and an extensive roof. They do have a concrete floor, and if they felt the need for walls it would not take much to install some but - why bother? They don't have near neighbours, no thieves, no storms...
Of course, she was surprised by Port Bruce and her new house. Everything here is very different from the grey, rainy streets of London. How could it not be?
We don't need much in the way of housing up here. Not far from where I am sitting, I have a friend and his wife whose house consists of one wall and an extensive roof. They do have a concrete floor, and if they felt the need for walls it would not take much to install some but - why bother? They don't have near neighbours, no thieves, no storms...
Of course, not everything is wonderful even in Queensland. Under the placid waters of the Strickland River lives the estuarine crocodile. A monster growing officially up to 7 m (23 ft) and a tonne and a half in weight, they would have no difficulty with a dinner of tourist, or anyone else silly enough to enter their domain.
Crocodiles are just part of the north Queensland scenery, and any lake, swamp or river belongs to them. They certainly limit the opportunities for a swim. You might say Japan was the human equivalent of a salt water crocodile. He was certainly very dangerous, and impossible to reason with. He made his home in the abandoned mining area of the Makepeace River.
We have a rich history of prospecting and mining in Australia, and the bush is dotted with the relics left by people who tried to strike it rich. Some sites are more significant than others, and the Makepeace is one of the big ones. Alluvial gold, extracted by leviathan dredges.
Once the dredges had eaten up all the valley floor, they devoured the town of Inkerman and were abandoned where they sat.
Once the dredges had eaten up all the valley floor, they devoured the town of Inkerman and were abandoned where they sat.
There is something about the size, variety and beauty of the north that will grab hold of you and completely spoil you for other places. That is certainly what happened to Shirley. Once she had set foot in Port Bruce, she would never have been content to return to her old life in London.
Here she found friends and a community to call home. She had a house next to the river, and a boat to travel into town. There was the wonder of the place, and the freedom from the daily commute into work.
She told herself she would only stay for a while, and that she would spend half her time at home in England. Well, that did not happen. The tropics got under her skin, and we've got her permanently now; she might go for short holidays, but she'll never leave Queensland.
She told herself she would only stay for a while, and that she would spend half her time at home in England. Well, that did not happen. The tropics got under her skin, and we've got her permanently now; she might go for short holidays, but she'll never leave Queensland.
Shirley borrows a bicycle and goes exploring :
The old road was still there. She had gone out of town along the Cooktown road and just as the blacktop ended, there was a turning into the forest. Mission Bay Road said the sign. She dived into the shadows. This was like the road to Uncle John’s house, but the trees were bigger and the lack of grass in the middle showed it was used more often. It wound its way on, a dark humid tunnel with islands of shocking sunlight. She stopped at one of these windows into the jungle and tried to frame a photograph.
It was difficult to take one that meant anything. She left her bike standing in the middle of the road and took a picture of that with the jungle behind it. It might give Rupert an idea. At least he would see the size of the trees. As she walked back to her bike, her eye was taken by two shimmering blue butterflies playing in the sunlight. They were tumbling up and down together at the jungle margin. They were bigger than anything she had seen in England, and far brighter. Impossible to catch on a photograph, and the mosquitoes were bothering her.
She continued to roll gently down the road until she came to a rough wooden bridge. It was made of heavy timbers crossed by two strips of tattered decking nailed down with large spikes. She pushed her bike across rather than risk a wheel slipping into one of the open cracks between the boards. The creek below her was still and opaque.
The road ended at the beach. There was nothing there, just a turning area, coconut palms, and the obligatory brown and yellow sign warning foreign tourists about crocodiles. She leaned her bike against the sign and stood and stared. From the shadows of the trees, she was looking out over a small bay of shining white sand. Byrnsie had said it was pretty but his off-hand description had conveyed nothing like this.
She stepped out into the sunlight. The beach was empty. A crescent of white sand closed in by jungle. The headlands on either side were made up of massive grey granite boulders, as big as houses. The granite was sticking through the jungle on the hillsides, big boulders and cliffs. In front of her, across the unmarked beach, the azure sea lapped lazily.
She slipped off her sandals and immediately burnt her feet. Bare feet were not possible and she hurried to get the sandals back on again. Perhaps the wet sand at the water’s edge would be cooler.
Looking back at the jungle with the Coral Sea caressing her feet, Shirley’s heart was full. She had seen tropical beaches on the television but those images were no more representative than postcards of the Sistine Chapel. She had not imagined anywhere could be so perfectly beautiful. The comfortable size and gentle loneliness of the bay had nothing in common with the wild North Atlantic coast she was used to. She was closed in by the jungle wall behind the beach and the two rocky headlands. At the edge of the white sand, coconut palms formed a boundary wall. Their feet were in the jungle but they were leaning outwards to seek the sun. She loved their unkempt and ever-moving fronds. It was unbearably romantic.
She would have liked to strip off and lie in the sun but it was far too fierce. Or lie in the warm sea, but Byrnsie had told her they were still in the stinger season when jellyfish made swimming impossible without a full stinger-suit to cover her. Not the mention the threat of crocodiles. Shirley retreated to the shadow of the parking area and spread her towel at the very edge of the beach, avoiding the danger areas around the coconut palms. She did not want her holiday cut short by a falling nut.
It was idyllic. Hot, even in the shade, but not too hot. A soft breeze from the sea was taking the edge off the midday heat, and she was becoming used to having permanently moist skin. She stared out over a view most people could only dream of. The Coral Sea and coconut palms. What more could you want? She opened her paperback and tried to read.
She was woken by a sudden impact. It took a moment to find herself. She looked around frantically to see what had woken her, and there was a large coconut newly arrived on the sand only five metres away. She shuddered at the sight. That could have killed me, she thought. I’m going to stick to admiring them from a distance.
She left the beach some time during the afternoon feeling hungry and thirsty, and hoping that Lulu would still be open. The way back up to the Cooktown road was all up hill and she had earned her refreshment by the time she rolled down to the wharf.
The old road was still there. She had gone out of town along the Cooktown road and just as the blacktop ended, there was a turning into the forest. Mission Bay Road said the sign. She dived into the shadows. This was like the road to Uncle John’s house, but the trees were bigger and the lack of grass in the middle showed it was used more often. It wound its way on, a dark humid tunnel with islands of shocking sunlight. She stopped at one of these windows into the jungle and tried to frame a photograph.
It was difficult to take one that meant anything. She left her bike standing in the middle of the road and took a picture of that with the jungle behind it. It might give Rupert an idea. At least he would see the size of the trees. As she walked back to her bike, her eye was taken by two shimmering blue butterflies playing in the sunlight. They were tumbling up and down together at the jungle margin. They were bigger than anything she had seen in England, and far brighter. Impossible to catch on a photograph, and the mosquitoes were bothering her.
She continued to roll gently down the road until she came to a rough wooden bridge. It was made of heavy timbers crossed by two strips of tattered decking nailed down with large spikes. She pushed her bike across rather than risk a wheel slipping into one of the open cracks between the boards. The creek below her was still and opaque.
The road ended at the beach. There was nothing there, just a turning area, coconut palms, and the obligatory brown and yellow sign warning foreign tourists about crocodiles. She leaned her bike against the sign and stood and stared. From the shadows of the trees, she was looking out over a small bay of shining white sand. Byrnsie had said it was pretty but his off-hand description had conveyed nothing like this.
She stepped out into the sunlight. The beach was empty. A crescent of white sand closed in by jungle. The headlands on either side were made up of massive grey granite boulders, as big as houses. The granite was sticking through the jungle on the hillsides, big boulders and cliffs. In front of her, across the unmarked beach, the azure sea lapped lazily.
She slipped off her sandals and immediately burnt her feet. Bare feet were not possible and she hurried to get the sandals back on again. Perhaps the wet sand at the water’s edge would be cooler.
Looking back at the jungle with the Coral Sea caressing her feet, Shirley’s heart was full. She had seen tropical beaches on the television but those images were no more representative than postcards of the Sistine Chapel. She had not imagined anywhere could be so perfectly beautiful. The comfortable size and gentle loneliness of the bay had nothing in common with the wild North Atlantic coast she was used to. She was closed in by the jungle wall behind the beach and the two rocky headlands. At the edge of the white sand, coconut palms formed a boundary wall. Their feet were in the jungle but they were leaning outwards to seek the sun. She loved their unkempt and ever-moving fronds. It was unbearably romantic.
She would have liked to strip off and lie in the sun but it was far too fierce. Or lie in the warm sea, but Byrnsie had told her they were still in the stinger season when jellyfish made swimming impossible without a full stinger-suit to cover her. Not the mention the threat of crocodiles. Shirley retreated to the shadow of the parking area and spread her towel at the very edge of the beach, avoiding the danger areas around the coconut palms. She did not want her holiday cut short by a falling nut.
It was idyllic. Hot, even in the shade, but not too hot. A soft breeze from the sea was taking the edge off the midday heat, and she was becoming used to having permanently moist skin. She stared out over a view most people could only dream of. The Coral Sea and coconut palms. What more could you want? She opened her paperback and tried to read.
She was woken by a sudden impact. It took a moment to find herself. She looked around frantically to see what had woken her, and there was a large coconut newly arrived on the sand only five metres away. She shuddered at the sight. That could have killed me, she thought. I’m going to stick to admiring them from a distance.
She left the beach some time during the afternoon feeling hungry and thirsty, and hoping that Lulu would still be open. The way back up to the Cooktown road was all up hill and she had earned her refreshment by the time she rolled down to the wharf.
Readers Reviews
This book sucked me in like mangrove mud. I felt the heat, the sticky sweaty atmosphere and the mosquitoes.
As a Pom, I remember so clearly my first thoughts on the Far North and it describes Shirley's reactions so well. I love how it totally captures the spirit and personality of the Port Bruce characters. The description of bouncing over the corrugations and the dust settling on the leaves was almost visceral for me - well done.
Diane Finlay, Find Publishing
I think I have read all Jacqueline George's books and, as always, I eagerly looked forward to what comes next. Again, Jacqueline did not let me down. I absolutely loved her new book Falling Into Queensland. Jacqueline takes you on a tropical adventure, this time to Far Forth Queensland, a journey Shirley and her friends will never forget. I felt like I stepped back in time to a small, local town that has as many surprises as crocodiles in the river. I wonder where Jacqueline will take me next.
Aneta Horne Turza Wielka
Next, my favourite review :
Okay!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Bloody good read - so good in fact, I burnt a pan of potatoes and sat here reading, wondering who the hell was having a bonfire!!
I think the pan will survive but it's fish an'chips for dinner.
A Lady from Cairns
Having intimate knowledge of the locations and personality types that this 'fictional' novel explores, I recommend this book to anyone who might enjoy a bit of escapist relief from the silly world of reality TV, or mindless twittering of modern social media. Well worth a look.
Serge Petelin Cooktown
This book sucked me in like mangrove mud. I felt the heat, the sticky sweaty atmosphere and the mosquitoes.
As a Pom, I remember so clearly my first thoughts on the Far North and it describes Shirley's reactions so well. I love how it totally captures the spirit and personality of the Port Bruce characters. The description of bouncing over the corrugations and the dust settling on the leaves was almost visceral for me - well done.
Diane Finlay, Find Publishing
I think I have read all Jacqueline George's books and, as always, I eagerly looked forward to what comes next. Again, Jacqueline did not let me down. I absolutely loved her new book Falling Into Queensland. Jacqueline takes you on a tropical adventure, this time to Far Forth Queensland, a journey Shirley and her friends will never forget. I felt like I stepped back in time to a small, local town that has as many surprises as crocodiles in the river. I wonder where Jacqueline will take me next.
Aneta Horne Turza Wielka
Next, my favourite review :
Okay!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Bloody good read - so good in fact, I burnt a pan of potatoes and sat here reading, wondering who the hell was having a bonfire!!
I think the pan will survive but it's fish an'chips for dinner.
A Lady from Cairns
Having intimate knowledge of the locations and personality types that this 'fictional' novel explores, I recommend this book to anyone who might enjoy a bit of escapist relief from the silly world of reality TV, or mindless twittering of modern social media. Well worth a look.
Serge Petelin Cooktown
