Ray’s Reclamation of Bell Chambers

Outback Oprah

Again, let me first apologise to those that are here for the Outback Mystery series of stories. This is a very important Blog post, which is both showing and telling. Back to usual soon, promise. This is a Trip Report, of our family visiting the Sandstone and Bell Chambers area this last weekend, July 2022.

Ray’s Reclamation of Bell Chambers — Outback Oprah

We all woke at around 6:30 Sunday morning and re-stoked the campfire. I knew it was 6:30, I'd seen it on my watch at least three times already, each time needing to double check (so at least six times then in fact) because I couldn't believe we had finally managed to sleep so long. Josh and I emerged first, and not knowing that the others would all be up soon too, naturally regressed to our primordial selves, nudging the coals with our feet whilst making grunting noises so that the flames would leap at our command, without waking the tribe.

The tribe, however, did all emerge soon, too. All the faces appeared glowing, with high cheekbones and foreheads free of frowns. Curious, I thought, having expected opposite results only two days prior when most of our small family had all made their way north. Remorse and sorrow seemed would be the results of such a weekend, not peace and harmony, given we would be visiting Ray and Jennie’s final . . .place.

Clearly the Outback had made other plans.

Scale and depth, environmental and emotional peaks and troughs; some things need to be seen, to be experienced, to appreciate and completely understand. You need to “be there”. The enormous prehistoric man-eating reptiles of the NT, storms of the tropics, and lost-landscapes of the Pilbara, to name a few environmental examples. I have been lucky enough to feel very inferior to Nature on many occasions, that wild lady has tried to kill me more times than really necessary, god love her, and made me feel like an insignificant speck of lint on her cosmos' belly more times than I can count.

I'm ashamed to say that I don't know if Ray experienced any of these peak momentary environmental feelings. I know how much he loved nature; he lived for it. Nature is what he dragged Mal and I into at every opportunity possible as kids, with his pocket knife on his belt and a cocky-confidence of never getting us lost. He then did the same with his children, from the moment they could walk, without ever a threat of danger nor disaster.

I now know how much he loved cows. My god did he love cows. We found out by plugging a hard drive full of "RAY PHOTOS" into a laptop then projecting the contents against a white bed sheet roped to the tree that he had found his final shade under. There were twenty thousand photos in that hard drive. We decided to let them play randomly rather than try and choose a particular set, by first sorting the folder by 'size' rather than 'name' or 'date':

Chars' wedding. Mel and Ray making each other laugh out loud. Cows. People getting bogged. Selfies inside tractor cabins, no doubt pulling people out of the bog. More cows. Keify and Clarabelle and all their children and grandchildren at their 70th/80th. Jennie in their outdoor wood fired bathtub... A bottle of Elizabeth 2011 white wine. Sunlight through trees. A few more cows. Jennie’s children, Ray’s stepchildren. More family photos from Chars' wedding, including a few candid shots. And, oh yeah, more cows.

This is purely an opinion, but I’d say the results indicated more emotional bonds than environment. Except for the cows and the bogged, but even those would have made him laugh out loud. And those emotional bonds seemed very tribal.

We’d played Ray's memorial service slideshow earlier. Part of that slideshow, which Ray’s eldest daughter Chars had put together back in April 2015, was a few photos from one of Ray and Jennie's last holidays, to Uluru, Australia's most famous red monolith, and the scene of perhaps Australia's most infamous outback True Crime incident. Not that that event was ever a crime, as it turns out, other than the crime that police perpetrated against the very innocent victims of a most brutal tragedy — the loss of their baby, Azaria, who was taken by wild dogs — for reasons ultimately created by media and subsequent public outcry, because the Chamberlains were acting “a bit weird” on the tellie.

It did seem curious that none of those Uluru holiday photos were inside the folder "RAY PHOTOS", so perhaps confirming my opinion that emotion trumped environment for Ray. Not sure.

This post is getting ahead of itself, though. I need to tell you why we were there.

A media crew are producing a documentary on three WA Goldfields unsolved murders, Ray and Jennie’s being one of the three. When asked to participate, I requested to “show” rather than “tell” the events by illustrating the coronial inquest findings (as well as our own knowledge of circumstances) on site at Bell Chambers. Mel and Chars, Ray’s children, were therefore also offered the long overdue opportunity to visit the site, as well as Mal, Ray’s middle brother, having the chance of a second visit too.

Mal ultimately didn’t make it, however it took literal heart failure to prevent his attendance. When I was speaking to the documentary producer prior to the trip, when he was talking about who, how and where they wanted to film, he said that we’d be interviewed in a dark underground bunker in the cellar of the Sandstone pub. Or at least that’s what I remember. My answer was that I was glad Mal was coming, as Mal always provides a calming effect. Particularly for me, being the yin to my yang, and much needed support for us all.

Clearly the Outback had made other plans.

Anyhow, while Mal received multiple heart jumpstarts on his massive ticker, Sally and I loaded a car full of camping equipment and headed north last Thursday. Let it be known that it doesn’t matter whether you are camping one night or ten, a similar amount of gear is required. We arrived in Sandstone midday, then were swiftly swept up in the documentary media organised mayhem. That afternoon is a long story, and best told by the documentary crew who were all absolutely awesome and we never should have had concern of their intentions. Keep an eye out for the doco later in the year.

Allow me a short moment to brag, though: The documentary is presented by Caroline Overington. I had the pleasure of frightening the bejesus out of Caroline by being a random stranger, driving her around the Sandstone Outback, as she presented stories of people being murdered by randoms in the Outback. In the first hour of our meeting, I asked Caroline whether she “does this often”, which she replied detailing her many hats, including Editor for The Australian, and authoring multi-award winning True Crime novels. I had already googled these credentials, of course, so responded like a true random, “I know. You’ve been on Oprah!” as we drove onto a remote prospecting track, with Caroline turning and looking through the passenger window to make sure the crew were right behind us.

Just one part of Ray’s confidence would have been nice. Just a smidge. Or Mal’s calm. Is that too much to ask? But, no, I get this carcass and neurological unit…

The rest of that day is in the hands of those others. I have complete confidence in their judgment.

The next day, waking before the sparrows had even started passing wind and thinking of all the things missed in translation, or having forgotten to say that day before, the Kehlets’ group messages started to ping: Departure photos from Ray’s girls — they would arrive in Sandstone by midday. Meanwhile, I was to put on the same clothes as yesterday and resume filming.

Soon afterward, I found myself sitting across from Caroline on our camp chairs in a landscape identical to many of the places visited during my childhood — on a sparsely scrubbed, granite ridge line, feet firmly planted in ochre dirt — bawling like a five year old boy lost in the bush, screaming internally for his big brother to find and save him. Because I was exactly that again in that moment, and now realise have been many times these past seven years.

I also recall some cameras were there, and a new friend.

The rest of that day is a blur. Ray’s girls, Chars and Mel, arrived along with their better halves plus a half — all much loved members of Ray’s family tribe. We visited Ray’s 1st HOLE. Mel and Chars soaked in the scene. They will tell their own stories of those peak environmental and emotional moments, I’m sure. Then we were at the campsite, the last place where Ray and Jennie were known to be together and alive, with cameras focused on Ray’s greatest treasures.

The doco producer had asked us earlier if we could build a fire for that evening, to get some footage of a campfire chat. Mal is the campfire guru, so with him absent I had said to Sally, “Jeezus, Sweets, if I fluff the fire up on camera, we’ll lose all credibility!” Thankfully the fire fired up no problem. Caroline said, “Looks like you’ve done that a few times,” and I replied with bravado, “yeah, thousands of times *grunt*”. I wonder if she saw me sweating…

Seven of Ray’s tribe sat in an arc around the campfire, with Caroline, and we told stories about Ray and Jennie. Five of the tribe had very nice camp chairs, whereas mine and Sally’s were … well, cheap Kmart jobs. Mel was sat on my left in her chair that seemed wouldn’t be out of place at Ham Polo Club, so I whispered to her that I felt inadequate.

“Because you are,” she replied with all the humour of her father. “Did you make Caroline sit in those chairs today?"

"This isn't Oprah, Mel." I said.

"You're embarrassing," said Mel as she held my hand.

The women in our family . . .what can I say. Their strength and tenacity is writ large. The fact that they let us blokes hang around, in most cases merely for their own amusement, is an honour that cannot be overstated.

We all drove back to Sandstone that night under the New Moon, and ate and drank around the Pub fire. The skimpy had departed that day, thank god — what a Mingah. In the morning, Saturday morning, the documentary crew made their way back to Perth leaving our tribe alone in the Outback. We were fortunate enough to meet and chat with two of the local characters who are in the Outback Mystery story so far, to get their local perspective.

We bumped into 'Not my job' Rodney Rod, the Sandstone Shire employee who attended the campsite on 31st March 2015 with Eric Murphy (names both changed to protect the innocent). The real Rod is nothing like the character in the Outback Mystery creative nonfiction story. The real "Rod" is in fact a very peaceful man with blue eyes that reflect the sky, and a heart of gold to match the surrounding earth he walks upon. It was necessary to portray Rodney as a very generalised version of government employees, to suit the narrative of implying that his character’s 'Not my job' attitude would be better placed joining the police force.

Rod told Chars and Mel what he found when they first saw the campsite. His eyes welled with tears when he told of how many people look for Jennie when they are out that way prospecting. “The locals are always looking out for her,” he said. Then Rod gave the girls a detailed rundown of the prolific wild dogs in the area — Dingo crosses that don’t bark and will attack you in packs. I don’t know if he told us that as a friendly warning, or for my later amusement, but either way we thanked him and I did so with a wry smile.

That afternoon we setup camp at Ray and Jennie’s campsite, then Sally, Ray’s girls and I went to visit “Dianne” (not her real name) from the station less than five kilometres south of Bell Chambers, while Kyle, Elizabeth and Josh, Chars & Mel’s better halves plus a half, stayed at camp. We spent at least two hours at Dianne’s home while she told story after story of “how fucking useless those coppers were” throughout the investigation. Dianne found a fire extinguisher on her property which prompted the third search (spoiler alert), and her retelling of that police response, as well as the fact that they didn’t bother even contacting her for months after the missing persons search despite her locality, had us equally enraged and in tears of laughter. Dianne is a national treasure and should be recognised as such. I only hope I properly portray her in upcoming chapters that will give her the appreciation she deserves.

Dianne also mentioned locals who are searching for Jennie, including a couple of blokes with a full off-road elaborate setup, winches and all, searching mine shafts throughout the region. And she described the wild dogs. But that story is for later, too, except for the fact that Chars, Mel, and Sally were by now completely convinced that they were in imminent danger of wild-dog-attack. Perfect conditions for a night under the stars.

We left Dianne’s property via the horses for a quick pat, then back to the campsite a short way up the Paynes Find-Sandstone shortcut with the knowledge that since the 22nd March 2015, except for minor moments in time — the small ornamental garden figurine's visits, and those police whom are still unrepentant of their mistakes — Ray was, and Jennie still is, surrounded by good people. And Jennie will be found.

As we entered the prospecting track to camp, Chars and Mel made the decision to not discuss any more about the investigation that night. It was “happy” time. That night, with the sky a perfect dome of stars in every direction to the horizon, and an extra-large campfire warming our souls, we toasted Ray as he played his heart out on the screen tied under his final shaded tree — a befitting Dead Finish Acacia.

His laptop contained nine folders of music, named 'Ray's Music Mix 1', 'Ray's Music Mix 2', 'Ray's Music Mix 3', ... etc (you get the idea), and twenty thousand photos all piled into one folder titled "RAY PHOTOS". We let the new moon decide on the order of photos, yet we played his music in Mix order. Changing the folder arrangement in "RAY PHOTOS" made no difference to the resulting projected display: Jennie. Chars' wedding. Mel and Ray laughing out loud. Cows. Bogged people. Pulling people out of the bog. Keify and Clarabelle and all their children and grandchildren. Elizabeth 2011 white wine. Filtered sunlight through trees. Ray’s stepchildren. Lots and lots of cows. And, discrete yet obvious pics of them both in the outdoor wood-fired bathtub on their farm which were met with plenty of “ewwwwws” from his girls. Raymond the Ram, I thought smiling wide.

Ray’s music mixes were a revelation. Plenty of ACker-DaCker, as expected. I was personally a tad miffed Eye of the tiger never played, but I guess that was a millennia ago. When Cher came on, I spat a whole can of Emu toward the speaker in disbelief. And no one, no one, was prepared for when Absolutely Flawless came on the playlist around Ray's Music Mix 5. Many of our tribe of seven considered skipping that track, yet we all knew it was Ray’s night so let it play on through.

The very first song was Truly Madly Deeply by Savage Garden. I hadn’t had nearly enough Bush Chooks by then to process that as Ray’s first choice. "Do you reckon the music folders are in any sort of order? Or did your Dad just randomly throw songs in as he liked?" I asked Chars as we all sat in an arc around the fire facing the acacia tree.

"Not sure. It seems like there is an order to them, huh," Chars replied.

"Yeah, well this first song definitely sounds like sexy bath time," I mused. The reaction was as expected and perfectly executed; it is impossible to laugh, vomit, and slap someone at the same time, yet well timed questions such as these are how you can witness someone try. And Chars sure tried hard.

It was a perfect night. We flooded the entire Bell Chambers tenement with Ray's music, love and laughter under a cloudless, star filled sky. All the dark energy was driven away, no doubt all the way to that small ornamental garden figurine’s hovel south of Perth. All seven of us woke the next morning full of peace and vowing to return. In fact, Mel had to be escorted from the camp because she did not want to ever leave. Stoking the morning camp fire, we all laughed and told similar stories of getting up for a leak in the middle of the night and packing pants that a pack of wild dogs would attack. A perfectly executed anecdotal reference to an infamous Australian horror story might have been told around the campfire as we all packed up for bed, I cannot confirm nor deny any involvement.

Sunday night, when everyone had returned to their homes, the Kehlets’ group messages started to ping again. My lovely wife perfectly summed up our feelings with her final say: “Was an epic long weekend! So blessed to have you all in our lives. Love you all. Would love to do it again sometime. Sleep well and stay safe — don’t let the bed dogs bite!”

It will not be the final chapter. We will return, when Mal’s massive ticker is sorted. Perhaps Jennie will have been found by then, all we can do is live in hope in that regard. And our hopes have rocketed knowing how many locals are searching. Meanwhile I will keep writing their story, which now feels a lot like a “choose your own adventure” type of story, except we don’t get to choose the plot, that is done by police and prosecutors. Let’s hope they will pick themselves up from some horrendous earlier plot choices and finish the final chapters as a story of redemption and resolution, rather than simply an avoidable tragedy.

Scale and depth, environmental and emotional peaks and troughs; some things need to be seen, to be experienced, to appreciate and completely understand. I hope that the documentary will do just that. I believe it will. Regardless, Ray’s reclamation of Bell Chambers is complete.

Ray’s happy place, inside a tractor cabin working the land. Blue eyes that reflect the sky, and a heart of gold to match the surrounding earth he last walked upon, at peace: