200 years

 

Press Release * Press Release * Press Release * Press Release * Press Release

For immediate release 21/01/2026

From:

The Office of                                                                    

Sir Wilton Smee-Brough                                                                                  

Chief Protector: Arts                                                                                                

And Culture.                                                                                             

Province of Halcyon Spit

Bicentennial Celebrations Paused Until Further Notice

HALCYON SPIT, Australia. The Office of Arts and Culture wishes to advise that provincial organisation underway for the ‘First Peoples First’ Bicentenary Celebration of Colonisation is to be paused. Negotiations are currently being held with historians, community groups, artist collectives, private contractors and first nations people to decide the future of the Bicentennial.

“It’s been revealed that a small group of radical dissenters are influencing vulnerable communities to deny the fact that Colonisation of our beautiful province deserves any celebration or a public holiday to recognise the hard-working pioneers,” a spokesperson for Sir Wilton Smee-Brough (OAM) said.

The newly anointed Mayor of Halcyon Spit, the honourable Geoffory Strokes, added “This is why Mums and Dads can’t have nice things like a day off in our busy working lives. Our ancestors came here from over the seas, cleared land and worked hard. The Bicentennial is a time for celebration of these people. I hope that those woke lefties will somehow see some sense and recognise that our story is more relevant than their mid morning latte discussions.”

Lifelong Halcyon Spit resident and Rotary President Alan Spittles said, “Isn’t this all about the Referendum? Some folks are just feeling bitter about the outcome and they’re using it against us now. It’s just sad. It’s a real shame. I can’t have day off for the Bicentennial now.”

The Office of Arts and Culture has advised that Australians will not be entitled to a Public Holiday.

 

The Office of

Sir Wilton Smee-Brough

Chief Protector: Arts and Culture

Province of Halcyon Spit

E: WSmeeBrough@cpac.wa.gov.au

P: 0408896382

End Press Release ###

 

“So, the historians are revolting,” Sage said with a sideways twist of her head and a smirk when she read the press release.

“Yeah, they do that,” said Ben, understanding the subtext. “Difficult to contain that mob. Am I good to go ahead?”

Ben was the sub editor of the Halcyon Herald but he was also twenty years junior to Sage, a veteran local journalist and Alan Spittles’ niece. A newbie from the city, Ben’s job was to invent clever headlines and make sure the ipso factum text was replaced with actual news. He was supposed to report directly to Jason Edwards, the Herald’s editor. But he always consulted Sage first. Sage found this touching, a man the same age as her son coming to her for advice but there was also a strategic edge to him that spiked her gut. He wouldn’t be stuck in Halcyon Spit for long. Not with that face, the Da Vinci perfection of his proportions, and a nose for culture wars. Heading straight to the national broadsheet was Ben.

 

“Uncle Al’s retired.” Sage said. “He doesn’t even need a day off. Run it as is,” she instructed him. “Then watch this one play out. Whatever comes next will write itself.” She pointed her index finger at Ben. “This is gonna be a doozy.”

 

Winter Solstice

 

Jayden’s Mum had read him Beowulf, that Lady poem about shallots and the Narnia Chronicles and she knew what happened to the children of those men who’d abdicated responsibility and still she got arrested and locked up.

 

‘The swan roads,’ Jayden said, pointing to the lake. ‘That’s the swan roads.’

‘What, the lake?’ asked Matt.

‘Yes, that’s their roads to winter. They’ll go inland now, to the flooded paddocks. That’s where the swans will go to have their babies.’

 

They listened to the swans’ calls as the birds gossiped together on the lake, getting ready to leave for the winter. The reservoir began to glow bright with the moon. And there it was, there she was, this horned critter, like a moon but female, a Venus reflected in the lake. No, she was like Kali. Angry and beautiful.

 

‘Oh my god did you see that, Jay?’ Matt grabbed Jayden’s arm. He began to cry, again. He was trembling. Matt was weeping now and then lifting his face to the moon. Jayden remembered when Ratty and Mole had encountered The Piper. She’d read it to him, his mum. She’d said, ‘I’m quite sure Kenneth Graeme was off his nut when he wrote that chapter. But Damn! What a good yarn.’

 

 

 

Winter Solstice Part 1

 

Three hours out of the city and the sun sitting low behind them, Jayden and Matt entered the karri country. There they were, one minute driving past paddocks and scrub and next minute Jayden’s little hatchback was enveloped in blonde, serried ranks of the enormous trees. Some valleys the sun now failed to reach and these places were dark, the sky closed over with feathered, crown shy canopy.

  ‘It’s claustrophobic ey,’ Jayden commented.

  ‘In tiger country now,’ Matt said. He’d been quiet on the trip south, not his normal cocky self, a lot of time spent looking at the blue screen of his phone, finding murder ballads on Spotify or glaring out the window.

  They crossed the river into the old timber town.

  ‘Place is just up here.’ Matt had the maps app open on his phone and Cave’s sombre tone was replaced by a chirpy female voice: In 300 metres, turn left onto Sheffield Street. ‘Dunno why we even need an AirBnB, Jay. We’ll be out all night anyway.’

  ‘Promised my Mum.’ Jayden didn’t mind admitting this to his best mate. Twenty four and still beholden to his Mum but Matt knew why and didn’t tease him.

  It was an old mill house, one of many lined up like a little town, opposite the abandoned timber mill. Green shade cloth flapped listlessly against weatherboard walls, presumably to block the afternoon sun on hot days. Smoke curled out of a steel chimney. The house looked like a rental and Jayden wondered how that even worked. He stepped onto the veranda and knocked on the zed door. Matt stayed in the car.

  A man stepped out so quickly he must have been waiting on the other side of the door. ‘Are you two the pickers?’ He looked at Jayden and then to Matt in the car. His face was curiously soft and hard, a criss cross of scars on one russet eyebrow but his skin pale, like he’d stayed indoors all his life and still managed to get beaten up. About as pretty as a ditch, Jayden’s Mum would say.

  ‘Pickers? Nah,’ Jayden turned to Matt, avoiding the man’s raptor stare. ‘We’re heading south. Hopetoun tomorrow.’

  ‘Okay. Just don’t want any pickers stayin’ here. Fucken parasites. Come on, I’ll show you the room.’

  Now that the sun had set on the shortest day, the cold crept out of the earth. The room they’d paid for online was out the back of the house, a veranda that had been converted into a sleepout using mismatched corrugated iron. It was clean and freezing cold. A double bed, a small white plastic blow heater and an ancient television.

  ‘Toilet and bathroom through here,’ the man gestured to what used to be the back door. ‘And if you want to make a coffee in the morning, use the kitchen.’ For some reason, he reminded Jayden of Matt’s Dad. The way he spoke, a man who didn’t bother with menace to be unsettling.

  The man looked at his phone. ‘Matt and Jayden,’ he said but still didn’t introduce himself. ‘Have a good night boys,’ and then disappeared into the house. Matt dropped his backpack and stared around him.

  ‘What the fuck? Have you locked up the car?’

  ‘Let’s just have a cone first.’

  ‘Not in here mate. He’ll smell it. Also, I asked if there were two beds but there’s only one.’ Matt’s gaze around the room and stopped at the wooden chair with a single towel folded on the seat. ‘I don’t mind sharing a bed with you, my brother but I’m not sharing a fucking towel.’ He stuck his hands deep into his hoodie pockets.

  Jayden stooped to flick the switch for the heater. Nothing happened. ‘Heater doesn’t work,’ he said unnecessarily and then tried the TV. ‘Maybe the power’s off out the back here.’ From under the back door there was a thin strip of yellow light and then a wisp of wood smoke from woodstove inside. There was a knock from the inside of the back door.

  The door opened inwards and the man stood, framed by light, holding a stack of towels. He came in and set them down on the chair. ‘Need some extra towels, ey?’ He went back inside the house and came out with an extension cord and power board. ‘Use this for the heater and telly.’

  After he’d left again, Jayden and Matt stared at each other.

  ‘D’you reckon he’s got a camera in here?’ Matt said.