The Twilight Tales of Oamaru

Amelia Norman © Amelia Norman

In the concrete darkness of Smith’s Grain Store three candles flicker. The shadow of Annette Knowler’s tiny frame morphs into a wavering monster as she passes them. To her right sits a rusty penny farthing – frozen in time; behind her, an enormous picture of a laughing clown bears downwards, watching all. Outside, wind crashes against the limestone walls and rain scratches on the ancient windows.

The weather is perfect for setting an eerie scene, but not so for the Oamaru Twilight Tales Tour my friend and I have booked in for. “I can’t promise you a walking tour, because of the weather,” says our host and professional storyteller, Annette, dressed in a black woollen hat, scarf and gloves with sprightly rainbow trim. “But I can promise you some great stories.” She bundles us up in blankets and we perch on the room’s only chairs in baited anticipation.

Annette starts with the tale of Eloise. A tale that, like her others, is set in Victorian-era Oamaru and is based - “to some degree” - on fact. Through Annette’s vivid vocal imagery we learn of the exploits of Eloise - a mischievous young woman who attended a ball on the top floor of this very building and fell to her death on the staircase behind us. “She’s still here,” says Annette, matter-of-factly. Dancing orange shadows illuminate one side of her petite face. We grip our blankets tighter.

In the vast shadowy emptiness of this century-old building, Annette continually morphs before our eyes: one moment she’s ‘Word Weaver’, master storyteller, whose intensely dark eyes dart between our fright-stricken faces as she resurrects history with her unique recipe of fact and fiction. Then, she becomes Annette Knowler, chatty, gentle, practical retiree, and fount of local knowledge.

By night, things are different. Annette leads us through the draughty grain store, out the back door into Harbour Street. Our breath puffs in clouds and the icy drizzle bounces off flickering orange lanterns that adorn the shop fronts. The click, click, click of my friend’s shoes reverberates around the empty lane. As we stroll, Annette enthrals us with her detailed knowledge of this town’s past. She recounts the days when Oamaru was dubbed “a hive of iniquity”, and brings to life a time of horses, carriages and pocket-watch-wearing businessmen as crooked as the paving stones beneath our feet.

Past president of the New Zealand Guild of Storytellers, Annette is a master of narration. Her knack for telling tales - enhanced by strong research skills and a passion for her subject - became a profession when she retired as a teacher and established the Twilight Tales Tour.