The winner of the Bellarine Writing Competition is Jen Eddy for her story entitled Chasing Rainbows. The overall topic, Serendipity, produced five excellent stories from the finalists, Jenny Macaulay, Christine Scheiner, Shannon Brookes, Jen Eddy and Roy Mears.
Judges’ comments
This is a gentle, weird story with a quirky and likeable central character. It features relevant local historical references, strong planning and controlled execution, and successfully meets the requirements of the topic.
In our seventh year we received nearly 100 stories, using anonymous entries for the first time. As usual we had many entries from our very respected supporters, but there were a lot of new faces for our last topic which provided a beginning and ending phrase for the story. Again there was a lack of young writers, a hard factor that we will endeavour to rectify next year.
Alan Cobham
Chasing Rainbows by Jen Eddy
“Have you heard of the word ‘serendipity’?” Rory Shannon asked Ted, his newsagent. His attention focussed somewhere in the middle of Ted’s chest as he exchanged money for the Geelong Advertiser.
“Morning Rory, I’ve heard of the word, but I can’t say I know its meaning,” replied Ted.
“Many people think it’s a stroke of good luck. But it really means the faculty of making desirable, but unsought for discoveries.”
Ted frowned. “It just sounds like good luck to me.”
“It was first used by the English author, Horace Walpole, 1717-1797 in his Persian fairytale The Three Princes of Serendip.”
Ted looked suitably impressed. “You’re just a font of information, Rory. You never fail to amaze me every day with your knowledge. I told the missus about your sneezing theory and she reckons you’re absolutely right about that.”
Rory finally dragged his gaze up to meet Ted’s. “Of course I’m right; it’s a well-known proven fact that whenever we sneeze our eyes automatically shut. No one ever sneezes with their eyes open.”
Ted dropped the coins into the cash drawer. “So, what’s on for today then?” he asked.
Rory rolled up the paper and shoved it under his arm; he grinned excitedly. “The Bureau of Meteorology is predicting showers at lunchtime followed by sunshine. I’m hoping to go on an investigative reconnaissance of rainbows this afternoon.”
“Well good luck with that,” Ted laughed. “Or should I say ‘I hope you have a very serendipitous experience. You might even find a pot of gold’.”
Giving Ted a final wave, Rory retreated out of the shop. He wasn’t comfortable with small talk and Ted’s last remark had literally gone right over his head. That was why his normal conversations always included some astonishing information or statistic that was only important to him.
Rory was fascinated with rainbows. Through childhood his Irish mother had regaled him with stories of chasing rainbows and searching for pots of gold left by wily leprechauns. Of course, now as a grown man, he knew that was a fairytale. Leprechauns and pots of gold weren’t real. But sometimes the boy deep down inside him still really wished they were. Plus, it was a proven fact that you could never get to the end of a rainbow. But Rory still liked to try.
His late father, Finlay Shannon, had been of a similar disposition, besotted with facts and figures and prone to fixating on dreams and the unrealities of life. Because of The Troubles in Ireland and hoping for a better life, the family had emigrated from Ballykelly in 1982 after a bombing in their town killed 17 people. Rory was only eight years old. They settled in the tiny seaside town of Queenscliff because it reminded them of the quaint little fishing villages back home.
Finlay got a job on one of the fishing boats and it wasn’t long before he heard the legends of Benito Bonito’s Treasure. He was immediately captivated by the story of the pirate whose ship the Relampago had been forced off course by severe weather and sheltered in a cove near Queenscliff.
Loaded with ill-gotten Spanish and Peruvian treasures the cargo had been offloaded and buried in nearby caves. That was over 200 years ago. At least that’s how the story had been told to Finlay. Over the years many professional recovery attempts had been made, but none had succeeded. The pursuit of this treasure became his obsession and chased him into an early grave.
Rory got his wish later that day as he watched a bank of nimbus clouds settle over the town.
Soon it was raining steadily, but then just as quickly as it started it stopped and a sea breeze chased the clouds away. The sun appeared and with it a colourful rainbow arc stretched across the sky.
Rory was off on the hunt, chasing the concentric coloured phenomenon across the town.
Luck seemed to be on his side today as he entered the cemetery at Queenscliff. Excitement mounted inside him and his nerves tingled with anticipation. He really was nearing the end of the rainbow.
Usually, the cemetery was a place of quiet contemplation, disturbed only by the occasional birdsong or the wind sighing in the tea-tree branches but today the air buzzed with the mechanical sound of a digger. A grave was being dug. A bucket shovel was mounding dirt in a pile and when it stopped silence reclaimed the hallowed ground. A short man with carrot coloured hair squashed under a peaked cap and wearing a green Council overall jumped down from the machine and slid a wooden barrier over the newly dug hole.
He winked at Rory. “Mind you don’t go falling in.” He climbed back onto the digger and drove away, his work for the day done.
Silence again returned to the cemetery as Rory watched him leave. He estimated that the rainbow should be hitting the ground right near the new hole but when he turned back to look, much to his disappointment it had vanished, although he noticed the sun was reflecting a small sliver of light off
the top of the mound of dirt.
Rory got closer to the mound and scooped up the tiny object. It was round and seemed to be made of a heavy metal coated with many layers of dirt. He used his thumbnail to scrape away the dirt.
As he did so a smile spread across his face. He was almost certain that it was a Spanish doubloon just like the ones his father had collected photos of during his searching days. Could this be part of Benito’s treasure?
Rory cleaned off more dirt with the sleeve of his flannelette shirt. He looked up to the heavens above.
“Well Dad, I think I’ve just made a desirable but unsought for discovery!”
