The Parker-Flinte Expedition

THE PARKER-FLINTE EXPEDITION

  Copyright Lindsay Johannsen 2015

  Thank you.

  National Library Of Australia Cataloguing-in-publication data:

  Author: Johannsen, Lindsay Andrew

  Title: The Parker-Flinte Expedition

  Cover art and design bungled by the author.

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  THE PARKER-FLINTE EXPEDITION

  Zander Mxscupoviktzs,

  Rabbit Trap Flat,

  Far NW Qld, 7999

  The Right Honourable Professor Sir Maximillian Throstle, E&OE

  History Dept

  U of Q

  Brisbane, Qld 7000

  Dear Max

  Following the demise of my somewhat eccentric and reclusive Uncle Silas and the reading of his Will, I have, as per his instructions, taken possession of his oaken trunk. This was the only thing of consequence to survive the pest exterminators and decontamination team, all else of necessity having been killed and/or incinerated.

  According to family rumour, opening the chest would reveal the many exotic and valuable objects he’d collected during his decades in exile, though their exact nature was the subject of much conjecture. A fortune in African diamonds some alleged; others said it held a fabulous crystal of a mineral completely unknown to science – taken, he was alleged to have claimed, from a secret chamber in the Great Pyramid.

  This is believable (the claim, not the crystal) as Uncle Silas was not above helping such rumours along. I recall him assuring me once, in the strictest confidence of course, that his trunk held the remains of a small bipedal being from somewhere in the general direction of Andromeda. The creature had died in his arms, he said, after he’d rescued it from the smouldering wreckage of what appeared to be a very large cabbage.

  A good deal of acrimony was present at the reading of Uncle Silas’ Will, with many believing, for one reason or another, that they and they alone should be the chest’s rightful recipient – along with its potential treasures.

  Why he should have chosen me to be his beneficiary was not explained, however, and neither was it in any way self-evident. If I remember rightly, the better part of my young life was spent raiding his garden, stealing his chickens, pelting him with his own eggs (or those laid by his hens, at least), wasting his water, deflating his bicycle tyres, ringing his doorbell, stoning his roof and setting fire to his outside long-drop – to mention but a few of my boyish pranks.

  I do wonder if this was his way of getting back at me perhaps, for rather than valuable exotica, the oaken chest held nothing more than a heavy leather folder and some clay bricks – the latter, I presume, to lend it substance and an air of value. The folder held a number of old newspaper clippings, some letters, and what appear to be loose pages from a journal.

  The press clippings cover three subjects: 1) Scotland’s Tay Railway Bridge disaster and its terrible loss of life, 2) the subsequent collapse of the bridge’s operating company, Amalgamated Rail Services Enterprises (ARSE) Pty Ltd and, 3) the disappearance of the ARSE Co’s Chairman and Managing Director, Sir Oliver Rollington Parker-Flinte.

  The journal pages appear to record in part the details of an expedition of exploration into the remote Australian hinterland, with the element linking it to the newspaper clippings being its leader, Sir Oliver’s son, Peter. The pages are contiguous at least, though the journal being incomplete means the information therein lacks context, and so leaves many questions and no real answers.

  These fragments, along with a number of other documents I’ve come across, were to form in part the basis of my next paper, but all that was prior to one’s expulsion from the History Department. As a result I’m forwarding copies of the journal fragments along with some comments and a couple of the other things I turned up in case they contain material relevant to your endeavours. Please feel free to use any of it should that be the case.

  On an entirely different matter, old friend; you must keep up your spirits. Hopefully, given time, the Faculty and students will come to their senses. I mean it was a slip of the tongue anyone could have made.

  Yours etc

  Z.M.

  (Inclusions follow)

  THE PARKER-FLINTE EXPEDITION.

  (After reviewing all the documents, legends, rumours, theories and crackpot ideas etc that seemed to be in any way connected with or have possible relevance to the little known and thoroughly unsuccessful alleged journey of exploration into the interior of the continent led by Peter Parker-Flinte, I have selected the following items as being of possible interest to you.)

  FOREWORD

  Few appear to have heard of his expedition. Historians, generally, seem to regard the affair as suspect, with one notable even describing it as fiction and flim-flam – whatever that might mean. Some hold that Peter Parker-Flinte was a hopeless incompetent driven by boundless optimism. Others are less flattering, though this may be more to do with maintaining academic distance and the perceived preservation of alleged academic reputations.

  It is now generally accepted that Parker-Flinte did actually mount an expedition, but that the attributes such an undertaking would have required were sadly lacking. A minor exception to this was his English Gentleman’s beautiful copperplate handwriting, without which he would not have been able to keep his beautiful, English Gentleman’s Journal of Exploration.

  Its surviving pages (a transcription of which follows), provide us with the only evidence of the expedition’s progress – if “progress” is the right word here – and as such form the basis of these notes.

  (JOURNAL FRAGMENT COMMENCES)

  May 10: What a desolate wasteland it is that now confronts our gallant band. No tree or hill breaks the monotony of this dry and featureless land and no cloud blemishes the sky. The sun is utterly remorseless and we wither before its fearsome glare. Our plight grows worse by the hour, as do our spirits.

  Grinsky is near death and MacDervish is delirious. He lies in a lather of sweat and moans occasionally. Several times during the afternoon he was heard to shout "Drinks for my friends!" This is most uncharacteristic of the fellow, for as far as I am aware he has no friends.

  Herr Schtumpfarhten meanwhile continues to fulfill his own duties and those of Grinsky and MacDervish with uncomplaining Teutonic efficiency, while Monsignor deBris remains even yet in the pink of health – though I am beginning to suspect he is surreptitiously fortifying himself with rum from my liquour cabinet.

  As for my own tribulations, I am certain that any recovery one might effect will be a process long and difficult, with Grinsky’s so called damper having one’s intestinal tract better bound these last weeks than the expedition’s encyclopædia.

  May 14: Our Indigenous stalwarts Blackjack and Bushranger have returned from a three day scouting expedition with nothing to report. Both are thoroughly intoxicated and very much the worse for wear, something which puzzles me greatly.

  Later I removed the spear points from Bushranger’s back, following which I attempted to set Blackjack’s fractured leg. This was difficult at first, due to a lack of anæsthetic, but Herr Schtumpfarhten came to my assistance by pinning the fellow under a wheel of the supply wagon.

  May 17: We are making good progress and there is little to report. After considerable thought I enquired of Bushranger as to the source of the liquor he and Blackjack have been consuming. He informed me they purloined it from the personal effects of Monsignor deBris. This in no way eased my puzzlement, as both reek mightily of cheap rotgut wine.

  May 20: Truly the Wrath of God is upon us, for during the night a grea
t wind has arisen, its fury such that it tears at the ground itself. We are tormented beyond belief, with the agglomeration of airborne dust and sand blinding us to all but that close at hand, yet there is naught to do but press on.

  Late in the afternoon we stumble onto a somewhat dilapidated fence of posts, wire and top-rails, so we turn and follow alongside it, post by post, each barely visible from the one prior. After a mile or so, and just as I was about to call a halt for the day, we came on a number of wagon and horse tracks. This lifted the spirits of our little