Friday Fiction–From the Backyard

[This account is based on a true story, but the names of the people have been changed, to protect the not-so-innocent…yada, yada, yada…so truth be told, it’s fiction to entertain.]

 Neighbours to Entertain

Gliding home in her Toyota, Mum waved at the children gathered in the street around the corner from her place. Karl, her younger teenage son scowled, ‘Why did you do that?’

‘Just being friendly, love.’

‘Stop being friendly. It’s embarrassing!’

‘Just changing the culture, you know, trying to make this community more friendly.’

‘We should just keep to ourselves,’ Karl muttered. He slouched in the passenger’s seat and pulled his hoody over his eyes.

‘Now, remember to let your brother, Phillip in, if he comes home before me,’ Mum said.

Karl mumbled a reply that Mum hoped resembled the affirmative in “Karl-ish”.

The mother dropped her sulking son home and tootled off to her hair appointment in a nearby shopping centre. The hairdresser was very chatty filling Mum in on all the latest gossip and then emptying her purse of cash. Mum didn’t trust credit cards; she always paid in cash. After shopping at the local supermarket, she loaded her environmentally-friendly cloth bags filled with groceries into the trunk of her car and sailed back home.

She pulled up the driveway, and observed Ned, who lived across the road, leaning against his fence and peering over at his neighbours. “Never trust a man in brown trousers,” her friend used to say when she spotted the man lurking in his garden. Ned was wearing the said trousers and a dirty white singlet, that day.

[Photo 1: Suburban Street scene of looming dust storm © L.M. Kling 2021]

‘I wonder what he’s up to?’ Mum murmured as she dragged the groceries out of the trunk.

Shouting echoed across the road.

Mum placed her loads down, and then ducked behind the acacia bush. She watched through the lattice of leaves and listened. JP, the father of the young family next door to Ned, raged at a pot-bellied man.

Mum frowned. ‘Poor JP, still in his pyjamas. Hmm, he doesn’t look happy. Wonder what Potbelly did to wake him up?’

JP jabbed his finger at Potbelly. ‘Get out of my home!’ he yelled. ‘I’m a shift-worker! You’re disturbing my sleep!’

Potbelly edged backwards up the drive as JP drove him up there with his finger-jabbing.

JP’s daughter darted around Potbelly. She waved her arms around and pleaded, ‘Please! Listen Mister…’

‘Get inside!’ her father snapped. Then back to Potbelly. ‘What gives you the right to come knocking on my door—waking me up. Did I mention that? How dare you accuse…Rah! Rah! Rah!’

Three more children emerged from the shadows and joined the dance around Potbelly, squeaking their protests. The grown men, as if bulls, launched at each other, locked horns with words, and flailed arms on the edge of blows.

Mum darted to her carport door where she watched, willing their fists to cuff. She breathed out. ‘More exciting than television.’

One boy, maybe a friend of JP’s son, lifted a mobile phone to his ear. The men, angry eyes only for each other, ranted.

JP bellowed at his kids, pushing the children before him as he steered them into the house.

Mum sighed, and then crept around the back of her home, entering through the rear door. Pushing aside the living room curtain, she observed the continuing drama.

*[Photo 2: Through the curtains © L.M. Kling 2020]

Mobile-boy’s mum rolled up in her little red Honda sedan. Voices now muted by the intervening glass, Potbelly, his face the colour of beetroot, railed at her. He pointed at the boy. Clutching his mobile, the boy ran the back of his hand over his eyes, and his shoulders shuddered. His mother raked her fingers through her dark curls. JP’s boy and girl stepped out of their home. They stood each side of “Mobile-boy”, placing their arms around him.

‘Mmm, this looks interesting,’ Mum said, and on the pretext of taking out the clothes-washing, slid out the back door. Instead of heading for the clothesline, she wandered down to the side gate and poked her head over it. ‘They can’t see me, but I can hear them,’ she whispered while catching glimpses of the action through the shifting apple tree branches in the breeze.

‘But we can’t find it!’ JP’s boy bawled.

‘We’re sorry, we didn’t mean it,’ JP’s daughter bowed before Potbelly whose elbows jutted out as he bore down on his victim.

Mum moved her head left and right. ‘Trust the bush to be in the way.’ She then scuttled around the backyard and out to the carport again. ‘Darn! What happened?’

[Photo 3: Bushes in the way © L.M. Kling 2022]

Potbelly and Mobile-boy’s mum were shaking hands. Then he shook the hands of another parent, a man.

‘Must’ve turned up when I wasn’t looking’ Mum murmured before returning to the backyard. She disappeared into her home to continue on with her life and dinner.

Pot-belly’s voice boomed. Mum dashed back outside to her stake-out position behind carport door.

‘You see,’ Potbelly said to Ned who still leaned up against his neighbour’s fence, ‘I saw them by my car. Fiddling with the wheel. By the time I got there, to them, they had run off and my hubcap was gone. It’s a Porsche, ya know. I chased them and caught up with them here. I want my hubcap back!’

Mrs Mobile-boy-mum spoke but the wind caught her words and blew them away. She pointed at JP’s carport door. Then the children and Mrs Mobile-boy-mum rolled it up, revealing the way to JP’s backyard.

Ned eased himself off the fence and followed the procession into the backyard of interest.

‘I wonder if they found the hubcaps?’ Mum said.


Mum turned. Karl towered over her, his arms folded across his chest of black windcheater.

‘What’re you doing, Mum?’

‘Er, um…just looking for the…I thought I heard…there was a disturbance…just checking it out…’

Karl tossed his head and flicked the dark fringe from his face. ‘You’ve been spying again, haven’t you.’

Mum glanced across the road. Ned and Potbelly had resumed their station leaning against the fence and mumbling in low tones.

Karl’s brother, Phil, backpack loaded with university books, strolled up the driveway. He threw a look behind him. ‘What’s up with those two? What’s with the glares?’

‘Mum’s been spying again,’ Karl replied.


 [Photo 4: Festival © L.M. Kling 2010]

A few days later…

All was calm, all was quiet for Karl who slept contentedly while his mum, dad and brother ventured down to some local hills spring festival. Karl smiled, pleased that his demand for his family to stay in their own little box, out of neighbours’ way, had been obeyed…And that he didn’t have to take any more drastic action.

‘Thank goodness nothing came of Mum’s spying,’ he said, smacking his lips. He patted the shiny hubcap under his bed, sighed and then drifted into dreamy entertainment of his childhood lost.

He was glad he’d been friendly to the neighbourhood kids the other day.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2018

Feature Photo: Sunset Gumtree © L.M. Kling 2017


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Frolicking Friday–Fantastic Fleurieu

Our Mother’s Day Secret

 [May’s our horror party month. We endure enjoy several family birthdays plus Mother’s Day. The last few days I have been stressing because the chosen restaurant for a special “0” birthday, seemed to be dragging their proverbial heels in getting back to us confirming if we could be seated there. Actually, I had used a tried and, so I discovered, not so true that uses the symbol of a familiar table implement, and they had been the one’s inconveniently delaying the response. So, I contacted the restaurant directly by email and received confirmation in the positive of our booking the next morning. Big sigh of relief!

Anyway, this trial reminded me of the recently celebrated Mother’s Day and one that happened and that I shared a few years ago. I will share some of our celebrations and scenery from May/June parties past and present.]


Everyone, and I mean everyone in Adelaide must celebrate Mother’s Day. And everyone and their mother go out—eat out, picnic out, filling the parks, beaches, hills and car parks. The whole city—and their mothers, jump on the bandwagon of “mother-worship”, the restaurants filled to capacity, and unless you book months in advance, you won’t get a table for you and your mother.

[Photo 1: A pancake party at Le Paris Plage © L.M. Kling 2023]

My mother doesn’t like crowds, and our family struggle to organise themselves a few weeks in advance, let alone months. So, with that in mind, my mother has designated the Sunday after Mother’s Day, as her day.

On that Sunday, a week after all the mother-fuss was over, or so we thought, my family and Mum set off for Kuitpo forest (about forty kilometres south-east of Adelaide CBD). After a week of rain which began the previous Sunday, we were treated with the sun shining, no clouds and a clement twenty-two degrees Celsius. Perfect for sitting around a small wood fire and barbeque. Just what Mum and I wanted for our “Mother’s Day”.

[Photo 2: A different type of Party. Rogaining Second Valley, Fleurieu Peninsula © L.M. Kling 2012]

We piled into Mum’s station wagon and cruised down past Clarendon taking the road to Meadows.

‘What happened to the others?’ my older son asked.

‘They couldn’t make it. They had other things on,’ I said. I guess there’s always a cost to changing “Mother’s Day” to suit ourselves as mothers.

After my faulty human navigation skills led us astray as we turned down a road too early, we turned and we trundled back to the Meadows Road. There we sailed to the next turn off, this one sign-posted, white letters on brown, to Kuitpo. I apologised for leading us astray while my husband reminded me he knew the way.

Within ten minutes, we rolled into Chookarloo Camping ground. We’d picnicked here for our designated “Mother’s Day” a few years earlier and had found a clearing for a wood-fire with ease. I remembered a happy, though cloudy day, cold, but the company of family warm. The kids collected a stick insect and I took photos.

[Photo 3: Weber party © L.M. Kling 2007]

The sign at the entrance, though, warned of change. I read it and exclaimed, ‘Oh, we can only have fires in designated fire-rings.’

‘And where are these rings?’ Hubby asked.

‘Around,’ I said. ‘We have to drive around.’

We circled the camp grounds twice. Every clearing furnished with a fire-ring was filled with jolly campers and families munching on their chops and sausages. Cars guarded the cement rings where the occupants had finished lunch and gone on a hike.

[Photo 4: K-Team party, Kuitpo © L.M. Kling 2017]

We crawled past a clearing surrounded by a ring of trees but no fireplace.

‘If only I’d packed the portable barbeque,’ Hubby said.

‘Let’s go to the bakery at Meadows,’ I said.

‘Why not?’ Mum said.

‘What a shame they’ve spoilt Kuitpo with these rules,’ my younger son said.

‘It’s not the same, anymore,’ my older son said.

‘They have the rules because of the fire in Kuitpo a couple of years ago. They’re making sure it doesn’t happen again,’ I explained.

‘Stop complaining, Lee-Anne,’ my husband raised his voice, ‘the rules say you can’t have a fire.’

‘That’s what I was explaining, the National Park are making sure we don’t have another fire. The last one was pretty bad.’

My sons grumbled.

‘We had all this rain.’

‘How’s there going to be a bushfire?’

‘Let’s go to the bakery at Meadows,’ Mum said. ‘Anyway, it’s been a nice drive.’

Hubby shook his head and then exited the Chookarloo Camping ground.

[Photo 5: Braizier Party © L.M. Kling 2015]

We trekked off to Meadows, parked in the main street and trooped into the bakery. The aroma of fresh baked bread and brewed coffee greeted us. So did a variety of empty tables and chairs in the wide porch area with wall-to-wall views through the glass of the Meadows country-side. We settled down at a long table and basked in the sun shining through the windows.

As we supped on our pies and sausage rolls and sipped our cappuccinos, my younger son gazed out at the majestic gum trees, green hills and people with smiles walking up and down the street.

‘I like it here,’ younger son said. ‘It’s peaceful.’

After a pleasant family time, we wound our way back home. More than once, each of us in the car commented on the stunning scenic drive to and from Meadows: the golden sun glinting through the autumnal leaves of the deciduous trees that line the road, the gnarled eucalypt tress, the cows nibbling on grass in the paddocks and horses grazing in the field. We stopped for my older son to photograph the view of the rolling hills to the sea.

[Photo 6 and Feature: View over Fluerieu and beyond © L.M. Kling 2011]

At home, I fired up the brazier. The crowds had commandeered all the fire-rings at Kuitpo, but they couldn’t touch my brazier in my back yard. Let me tell you, we have a country-feel in our back yard. The neighbours’ two huge gum trees with wide girth shade our lawn, parrots congregate and chatter in the branches of those trees, and we even have the occasional koala visit.

My husband cooked the chops and sausages that had been assigned for our lunch in Kuitpo. We had the meat for tea instead. As a family, we sat around the brazier fire and enjoyed a simple barbeque, with a glass of wine. Family stories and adventures were shared into the night.

A perfect end to a perfect day, even though, perhaps as a result of the rule-change at Kuitpo. The secret? We actually talked with each other and listened to each other’s stories.

[Photo 7: Party around the home fire pit © L.M. Kling 2022]

‘Thank you for a lovely day,’ Mum said, ‘and I mean it. Because going for a drive in the hills, sitting around at the café and then the brazier fire, I got time to spend with my daughter, son-in-law and my grandsons. That’s what I wanted to do.’

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2016; updated 2023

Photo: Willunga Hills near Meadows © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2011


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Travelling Thursday– Road Trip in the Charger (6)

Road Trip to Sydney in the Charger (final)

[Based on real events but some names have been changed. And some details of events may differ. After all, it was over 40-years ago.

Finally…the intrepid road trip travellers reach Sydney.]

Feature Photo: Sydney Harbour from Ferry © L.M. Kling 2002

The conference and Rick’s never had a girlfriend

As far as conferences went, not a bad one. Lots of singing, worshipping God, that is, lectures, Bible Study, eating, and meeting new friends and old friends too. Our accommodation was down Anzac Parade, about five kilometres, halfway to the beach. I shared a small apartment with Rick and Dad. Dad drove me back and forth from the conference centre at Randwick. Not sure what Cordelia did, but I think she connected with other members of her family who attended the conference and stayed with them. Rick, I think ferried Mitch and Jack to and from the conference centre.

This arrangement becomes relevant later in the week of the conference.

One session that stands out, was the one on relationships.

Rick and I sat side by side, in the front row.

This will be interesting, I thought. Maybe I’ll get some tips on how to get a boyfriend and be popular like Cordelia.

‘So,’ the speaker said, ‘How many of you have had a boyfriend or girlfriend?’

Everyone including me, raised their hands. Everyone, that is, except my brother Rick.

‘What? You’ve never had a girlfriend, Laddie?’


The speaker pointed at me. ‘What about that lovely girl next to you?’

‘She’s my sister.’


[Photo 1: A lone tall ship in Sydney Harbour © L.M. Kling 2002]

Abandoned at the hostel and trek up Anzac Parade

Towards the end of the conference, one more event stood out.

Dad told me to wait for him at the hostel apartment where we were staying. After lunch we had an afternoon of free time before the final worship session.

I returned to the apartment lunch with my brother and friends eager to catch up on some rest and losing myself in a book. Maybe some journal writing which had been neglected in all the activity and excitement of the conference.

However upon my return to the dreary grey corridors of the hostel, my door was locked. Oh, well, Dad said he won’t be long.

I had nothing with me. All my supplies of entertainment and comfort were locked away in the apartment.

So I sat.

For hours.

After two hours, I began to sniff.

Then snivel.

Then finally, cry.

A lady poked her head out of a nearby door. ‘Are you all right?’

I wiped my eyes. ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’

She retreated into her apartment.

I looked at my watch. Five o’clock! Almost three hours I’d been waiting for Dad.

Convinced that he’s forgotten me and I’d be waiting further five hours with that lady sticking her nose in my business every so often, I stood up. Stiffening my lip in grim determination, I marched out the hostel and strode up Anzac Parade.

I prayed that God would protect me.

[Photo 2: Yachts in Sydney Harbour © L.M. Kling 2002]

Along the cracked pavement. Past long neglected houses. And cared-for ones. Over busy roads at the lights. Narrowly escaping any impact with red-light running cars. In the humidity. Under light rain. Taking a wide berth around the many hotels. And leering drunks who spilled out onto the footpath. In the ever-fading light that faded into dusk.

Five kilometres and forty minutes later, I entered the conference centre. The session where all had gathered, was concluding with prayers. All in a circle holding hands. I slipped in the circle. 

The boy next to me squeezed my hand.

Oh, he’s just being kind to poor little old me, I thought. After all, if even my father forgets me

After, over tea and biscuits, my miffed Dad asked, ‘Where were you?’

‘What do you mean? I waited three hours,’ I retorted.

‘Couldn’t you be patient?’

‘Not when I couldn’t get into the room,’ I said. There was a limit to my patience.

‘I went to pick you up and you weren’t there,’ Dad said. ‘I told you to wait.’

‘And, what time was that?’

‘Oh, er, um, about…’ Dad’s voice faded, ‘about five.’

‘Well, I was there at five, and I didn’t see you.’ I sniffed. ‘So, I walked.’

‘But don’t you know how dangerous that was to walk here?’ Dad showing so much concern, after forgetting me for the whole afternoon.

‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ I replied. ‘I prayed and God protected me.’

‘He did. Praise the Lord,’ Dad said and then wagged a finger at me. ‘But don’t you ever do that again.’

‘Yes, Dad.’ As long as you don’t forget me again.

Passing through the Blue Mountains

[Photo 3: A view of the Blue Mountains from actual trip © L.M. Kling 1979]

Our return to the less crowded and more sedate city of Adelaide, was serene and uneventful as the fair city itself. Especially at the time in 1979.

A few highlights. Mostly, in fact, all associated with the Blue Mountains. We had missed the beauty and wonder of the mountains on our journey to Sydney, so, Rick endeavoured for us to see these mountains in daytime on our trek home.

At the lookout to the Three Sisters, we lunched and admired the majesty of God’s creation. Even Rick using his polaroid camera, took photos of us admiring the scene. He was taken with the layers of misty blues and subtle greens cascading down into the depths, while the cliff tomes forming the Three Sisters presided over the valley.

I burst out in song and Cordelia joined in.

After a chorus, Cordelia said, ‘You should try out for the worship band.’


‘You have such a sweet voice, although it does need to be stronger.’

On the drive home I considered the prospect of trying out for the band. Perhaps singing in front of the church would make me more popular with the boys. Like Cordelia. But in the end, I decided against it. Too hard. Too much of a challenge for plain old me. After all, the worship band was a highly coveted affair, where lead singers jealously guarded their position. I’d never have a chance. Sweet voice, but not strong voice would never cut it.

Back at school, I continued my enjoyment of music singing in the choir. But I’d always secretly envy the solos with their stand-out song voices. The stars with their melodic strong notes, the audience’s focus on them alone.

Instead, that new year of 1979, my passion turned to art…and writing. These were the gifts God had given me.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2023

Feature Photo: Sydney Harbour from Ferry © L.M. Kling 2002


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Friday Frolics–Road Trip to Sydney in the Charger (5)

Cordelia makes a brief visit to the hospital.

Jack woke and rubbed his eyes. ‘What’s happening?’

‘What are you doing?’ Mitch asked.

‘What do ya think?’ Rick said as he slowed to the 60 km/h speed limit of the town.

Mitch pointed the other way, out of town. ‘Couldn’t we just…’

‘No,’ Rick said.

‘Cordelia’s going to be sick,’ I chimed in.

Rick slammed on the brakes and skidded on the rubble on the side of the road.

‘Not yet,’ Cordelia said in a soft voice. ‘But I need a hospital.’

None of us asked the reason we needed a hospital for Cordelia. Under the light of the newly functioning headlights, I studied the strip map for the district hospital. Not much joy there. The map only showed the strip of road or highway from town A to town B, no diversions. However, we did find a 24-hour service station where Mitch asked the way to the hospital.

Upon arriving, Cordelia insisted on entering the premises on her own while the rest of us waited in the carpark. Making the most of the opportunity not to be cramped up in the car, we sat or paced around the car in the balmy night.

*[Photo 1: Missed—the Blue Mountains © S.O. Gross circa 1960]

An hour or so later, Cordelia emerged feeling better. No explanation.

And once more we piled in the car and headed for Sydney.

‘If we drive through the night, we’ll reach Sydney by morning,’ Mitch said. ‘Plenty of time for the conference.’

Rick adjusted his grip on the steering wheel and grunted. ‘As long as nothing else happens.’

I squeezed myself against the back passenger door. I had lost my place in the front with Rick to Cordelia. I had been relegated to the back seat with Mitch and Jack.

The gentle rocking of the drive lulled me to sleep.

Lost in Sydney

I yawned and stretched.

‘Hey, watch it!’ Mitch said and pushed my hand away.

‘Sorry.’ I covered my mouth and yawned again.

The Charger crawled along following bumper to bumper traffic. High rise buildings towered over the narrow road and every side street garnered either a black and white “One Way” sign, or red and white “No Entry” sign. A bridge looking like a giant coat hanger peeped through a gap in the buildings.

*[Photo 2: Sydney Harbour Bridge before there was an Opera House © S.O. Gross circa 1960]

‘Where are we?’ I asked.

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Rick said.

‘Oh, Sydney,’ I said. ‘How come we’re not at the conference?’

‘You tell me,’ Rick muttered.

‘We’re having trouble…’ Mitch began.

‘It’s all these one-way streets,’ Rick said. ‘Who ever designed Sydney must’ve had rocks in their head.’

Jack suggested we head for Bondi Beach for a swim as it’s so bleeping hot, reasoning, that if we hadn’t had the car trouble, we’d have had a day to take in the sights and go for a swim.

‘Aren’t we late for the conference?’ I said.

Rick rolled his eyes. ‘Rate we’re going, we’ll never get there.’

‘But, if we go to Bondi,’ Mitch said, ‘perhaps we can find a park and work out where we are and how to get to the conference.’

‘But how do we do that?’ Rick asked. He moved the car at the speed of a tortoise along the road chock-full with near stationary vehicles.

I pointed at a sign which read, “Bondi”. Head east, follow that sign. I’d given up on attending the conference, and believing we’d be stuck in Sydney city traffic forever, resolved to content myself with the promise of the beach sometime in the next week. Not sure how Dad would feel about us not turning up, though. He’d made it his mission to persuade our little tribe to come. And, here we were, lost in the city traffic, wandering in circles around one-way streets.

*[Photo 3: Speaking of circles, Aquarium at Circular Quay, Sydney © L.M. Kling 2002]

I imagined Dad pacing the floor of the conference centre, wearing a groove in the carpet, glancing at his watch and peering out the window. ‘Where are those children,’ he’d be saying, ‘they should be here by now.’

‘Where, exactly is the conference?’ I asked. ‘Is it near Bondi?’

‘Have you got rocks in your head?’ Rick said. His face was flushed with beads of perspiration dripping from his temples. ‘Of course it’s not. And at this rate, no matter where it is, we won’t get there. We’re stuck.’

‘Um,’ Jack interrupted Rick’s rant, ‘I think it’s at Randwick Racecourse.’

‘And where’s that?’ I said.

‘Perhaps, if we go to Bondi, find a park, then we can study the map, and work out where to go,’ Mitch said.

‘Or we could lob into a corner shop and ask someone directions,’ I suggested.

The guys ignored my idea, as guys do. All this time Cordelia remained silent, contributing nothing to the discussion. Perhaps to be more popular with the boys as Cordelia certainly was, I considered I should remain silent. But, me, being me, I just could help myself. Being one of the “lads” and voicing my opinion, that is.

We reached Bondi. Early afternoon.

I remember the weather. Warm, cloudy and humid. Specks of rain assaulted the windscreen. Despite the inclement weather by my Adelaide standards, the streets around this beachside suburb were cluttered with more cars, and even more people. It seemed to me that Bondi was crowded with the entire rest of the population of Sydney; the ones who were not still stuck in traffic in the city centre.

As a result, no parks. Nowhere. Not a thin strip anywhere to put the Charger.

Rick sighed and drove through the park-less and crowded Bondi, along some coastal road and then up a road heading east again.

*[Photo 4 and Feature: What else, but the Opera House with the Sydney Harbour Bridge © A.N. Kling 2016]

Jack, who had been studying a simple map of Sydney that the RAA strip map provided, pointed at a road on the map. ‘I’m pretty sure if we turn down Anzac Parade and follow it all the way down, we will reach our destination.’

Rick followed Jack’s directions and we arrived at the conference just in time for afternoon tea. And, I might add, a roasting from Dad who could not understand how we could get lost in Sydney.

Mitch, though was philosophical. ‘It could’ve been worse, but I was praying the whole time, and God got us here safe and sound.’

Dad sniffed and tapped his trouser pocket. ‘Hmm, yes, you are right Mitch. Ah, well, praise the Lord.’

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2023


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Wild Wends-Day–A Celebration Treat

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A Story where the past and present, and vast distances in space intersect…and Boris does what he always does…

Eastern Europe, 1848

Prussian War raged, and the Wends as a village, left their homeland, with plans to set sail for Australia. From the Eastern edge of Prussia, they journeyed on a barge destined for Hamburg’s port, where they hoped to catch a cheap fare in the cargo-hold of a ship destined for the Promised Great South Land.

These villagers, never made their Australian destination. No one ever noticed, nor missed them. The neighbouring villagers assumed they had arrived in the Great Southern Land, and considered them so far away, and too distant to maintain contact. In Adelaide, also, the city for which they headed, the inhabitants were blissfully unaware of their existence. Migrating Prussians had taken their place in the over-flowing cargo-hold and were sailing across the Atlantic to Australia.

On this barge, headed by a man, Boris Roach, the Wends sang hymns of praise to God for their liberation from religious persecution, and the war. They looked to the promise of prosperity and freedom to worship God according to the Word. Their hope that their children and their descendants may thrive in their faith in the Promised Land of South Australia.

A tale where the nineteenth century meets the twenty-first…

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2021


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