Family History Friday–Off with My Head

September 27, 2024 / lmkling / 2 Comments

Off the Top of My Head

Random Thoughts about Family History

Friday has rolled around and once again, the well-researched, edited and polished article on some nascent topic of family history has failed to materialize. Too busy researching and chasing promising leads down rabbit holes. Plus making a concerted effort to finish the first draft of “Under the Bridge”, now titled The Culvert.

Hence, I am blatantly and unashamedly going to ramble and keeping to the theme of rabbits, rabbit on.

A fellow writer has the penchant to invite the reader to get comfortable in their favourite armchair with a cuppa and a bikkie, and then travel along with her in her latest story. So, I’m doing something similar today. Imagine we are in your café of choice, I’m having my decaf cappuccino with almond milk and you’re having your beverage of choice, and we are having a chat about family history. Admittedly, I’m the one doing all the talking—for a start. You can have your say at the end in the comment section.

*[Photo 1: Coffee anyone? © L.M. Kling 2021]*

Anyway, as I sip on my drink, I tell you…

I’ll start with the food. Early on in My Heritage forays, the computer offered some guidance with AI (artificial intelligence) in finding those relatives who would prefer to remain hidden in the distant past.

I took the AI up on the offer, to my regret.

After many questions that became more ridiculous as time went on, the robot which I might prefer to call a “bubble-headed booby”, asked the ultimate in absurdity. ‘What did your ancestor like to eat for breakfast?’

You need to understand that AI was asking about an ancestor who lived three hundred years in the past. If I knew the answer to the breakfast question, I wouldn’t be asking AI, would I?

I decided then to avoid researching with the AI after that interaction.

It got me thinking, though. What did my ancestors eat for breakfast? Too late for most of them to tell me. Even the famous ones don’t include a breakfast menu.

So, for future generations, here’s my offering for the few of my immediate family of whom I know their breakfast preferences.

*[Photo 2: Sunday Brunch Spread © C.D. Trudinger circa 1955]

My dad, Clement David Trudinger grew up during the depression and Second World War times. He loved bread with dripping. I’m not sure if this was a breakfast go-to, but he did say. Just saying.

My mum has to have her cup of coffee first thing in the morning. Coffee gets her going.

A few nuts and a cup of Caro does me for breakfast.

I’m not sure what my maternal grandma, Elsa Gross liked for breakfast, but she didn’t eat meat. I remember her having toast with butter and jam.

As for my maternal grandpa, Sam Gross, and my paternal grandma and grandpa, Ron and Lina Trudinger, I have no idea. And that’s only going back two generations.

All I can say for AI is good luck with that one going back three hundred years.

Digging back further, I discovered that one of my ancestors and an ancestor of my friend, and Indie Scriptorium teammate, Mary McDee’s, were shipmates travelling over to England from Normandy way back when England was invaded by William the Conqueror. I wondered whether they were friends and what their conversation was like. Mary was adamant that her ancestor probably wouldn’t have had much to do with mine as they were likely different ranks. But hey, ships back then weren’t that big, so I wonder…One thing for sure, they probably weren’t discussing their latest books and giving feedback to each other on how to improve their manuscripts.

*[Photo 3: Ship in Amsterdam © L.M. Kling 2014]

Continuing on my research voyage, Mary did ask me, “What’s a good Christian girl like you writing such content of bloodshed and gore. How did you come up with such an evil character like Boris?’

As I’m exploring those murky depths of my ancestral past, I’m beginning to understand. A relative of mine once read The Hitchhiker and was so shocked she gave it a poor rating. “This is not the person I knew,” she wrote as a comment. Little did she know that my ancestors and her husband’s were not the “Sarah Janes”, “Pollyannas” or “Saint Whoever” of the past. Quite the opposite. Think of Game of Thrones which is based on the War of the Roses, and you get the picture. One was likely a bishop, though, sorry to say…

[Photo 4: The Hitch-hiker © L.M. Kling 2015]

And no, the dreams that formulated my Sci-Fi novels were seemingly not from ancestral memories from the mercenary soldier, Balthas Trudinger that the family was so ashamed of.

I looked into that and discovered that Balthas who lived at Lierheim which is a castle near Nördlingen, Bavaria, most probably belonged to the Teutonic Order. The Teutonic Order at the time of Balthas’ coming of age, had bought the castle there and were renovating it. Hitler gave the Teutonic Order a reputation as the exemplar of the all-German, all-Aryan fighting force. But once he won power, he ditched the Teutonic order—banned them. Actually, the order from what I can glean did much good over the centuries. They started around the end of the 12^th Century as guards protecting pilgrims to Jerusalem. I bet Hitler kept that fact quiet. Although it was an army that did fighting and stuff in the past, these days it’s a charitable organisation.

I could go on rabbiting, but I think that’s enough random thoughts for one day. hubby has come home and we’re off to dinner for our 37^th Wedding Anniversary.

Happy Friday and hope you enjoyed your cuppa and bikkie.

If you have a Family History comment or story, I’d love you to drop a line in the comment section below.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2024

*Feature Photo: Goats on mountain near Saas Fee, Switzerland © L.M. Kling 2014

References:

Teutonic Order – Wikipedia

Nördlingen, 1580-1700: society, government and impact of war

***

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Second Friday Crime–The Culvert (17)

September 20, 2024 / lmkling / Leave a comment

[I’ve been considering the title of this novel. Under the Bridge was a working title, made more “working” when I discovered a recent thriller is called exactly that, “Under the Bridge”. So, time to get my thinking cap on and figure out another title. “The Culvert” had been swimming around in my head. I realised that the drain in which the victim’s remains are found is essentially a culvert. So, it has been decided, and with the team of Indie Scriptorium’s blessing, “Under the Bridge” will be renamed, “The Culvert”.

The Accident

Wednesday April 20, 2022, 10:30am

Darlington, Fifi’s home

Fifi

Dressed in grey tracksuit pants and turquoise fleecy windcheater bought from the nearby Salvos, Fifi regarded her opponent. Dee sat opposite her at the green Formica table, masked and ready for interview.

So, this is the Dee Lillie always banged on about when they were teenagers, Fifi thought. Not so formidable now, are you, Dee Berry.

Dee pressed the record button on her smart phone and commenced, her voice muted by that mask. ‘So, Fifi, what can you tell me about Saturday night, November 29, 1980.’

‘Not much, it’s all a bit of a blur after forty plus years.’

‘Anything stand out?’

Fifi shrugged. ‘Just the usual end of year shindig and then later we saw Milo get knocked off his bike.’

Dee leaned forward and puffed through her mask. ‘Did you see the car that hit Milo?’

‘Oh, well, actually, we were quite a distance away and it was dark.’

‘Can you describe what happened? What you saw? And heard?’

‘My friend Lillie and I were up on the clifftop, on the Esplanade, sitting on a bench seat there. I heard the roar of the motorbike, then a bang. Then a cry. I looked and saw something flying up in the air and then disappear. I remember a car accelerating and the sound of the motor getting fainter and fainter.’

*[Photo 1: Afternoon glow, Sellicks Beach © L.M. Kling 2013]

‘And? What did you do then?’

Fifi sighed. ‘We went over and had a look. Freaked us out. The guy, Milo up against the pole. Obviously passed. There was quite a crowd come to look and help, so we slipped away down the ramp and to our party. We were having a bonfire. To tell them.’

‘Who attended your party and where were they when this happened?’ Dee asked.

‘Um, there was my boyfriend Sven, Lillie his sister, Jimmy my brother, and Francis Renard. Five of us. The guys were all down drinking beer around the bonfire when the accident occurred.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yeah, Lillie and I were watching them. From above. You know how it is when guys start drinking. It’s annoying. So, we had girl time.’

‘What happened when you returned?’

‘The guys sobered up with the news. They didn’t like Milo, but they would never wish any harm come to him. I remember we decided to camp there the night and sleep near the fire or in our cars. Besides, the tide had come in and the sand was too boggy to try and get out. Our cars were high up near the rocks, so they were safe from the tide coming in. But there wasn’t enough dry hard sand to get out. That’s why we camped there.’

*[Photo 2: Evening fishing at Sellicks beach © L.M. Kling 2017]

‘Then tell me what happened the following morning?’ Dee said.

Fifi sighed. ‘In the morning, the tide was out, and sea was all calm. I remember it was sunny. I had fallen asleep in my sleeping bag by the fire, and when I woke, the fire had gone out. I had refused to sleep with Sven in the car ‘cos he was still drunk.

I watched Sven step out from his Falcon. I watched banter between Sven and Jim through half-closed eyes.

‘Did that really happen?’ Jimmy said.

‘What?’ Sven lit up a cigarette.

‘Some hoon killed Milo up there. I can’t believe that really happened.’

‘Oh, I’m so sad!’ Sven replied.

I noticed Sven was wearing Milo’s polaroid sunglasses.

Crawling from my sleeping bag, I hobbled over to the Falcon. ‘Hey, just wait a minute. What’s Milo’s…How come you’re wearing Milo’s shades? That’s a bit disrespectful.’

‘Dunno, they were there, I suppose,’ Sven said. ‘‘Sides he wrecked mine!’

Fifi paused.

‘And?’ Dee asked.

Fifi shrugged. ‘That’s all I can remember. It’s over forty years ago. Nothing else sticks out.’

‘What about Lillie? Where was she?’

‘Oh, yes, Lillie.’ Fifi smiled. ‘Not sure, but I remember she ended up in Francis Renard’s van. With the Renard. Typical! I end up sleeping on the sand, under the stars, and everyone else wimps out and sleeps in their cars.’

‘When did Renard arrive at the party?’ Dee asked.

‘Not sure.’ Fifi frowned. ‘Had to be before the accident, ‘cos he wouldn’t have been able to drive up to the rocks where we were. The tide had come in by then.’

*[Photo 3: Waves at Sellicks Beach © L.M. Kling 2017]

Wednesday April 20, 2022, 6:30pm

Adelaide Police HQ

Dee

After reviewing the interview with Fifi, Dee jabbed the stop button on her mobile phone.

‘The mongrel!’ she snapped. ‘How dare he stand me up at my own party and hook up with Lillie! How dare he!’ Dee looked around the empty office and wrung her hands. ‘One way or another, whatever it takes, I’m going to get you, Lillie.’

Wednesday April 20, 2022, 6:30pm

Brighton Esplanade, home of El and Francis Renard

El studied the images on her mobile phone. She picked at the sides of the photo and enlarged it. She held the picture of Zoe against the faded photo of a slender blonde in a blue bikini.

‘Gawd, she was a beanpole,’ El muttered, ‘almost anorexic. Must ask Sven if she had any eating problems. Not normal to be so skinny.’

Francis leaned over her and said, ‘You’re just jealous.’

‘No! It’s not normal to be so skinny.’

‘Who’s that?’

El turned at locked eyes with her love. ‘You don’t remember?’

‘Er, um, well, she looks familiar…was she…one of my girlfriends?’

‘Unbelievable!’ El rolled her eyes. ‘This is Lillie. Back in the ‘80’s.’

‘Lillie? Lillie who?’

‘Your mate, Sven’s sister?’

‘Oh, her!’ Renard snorted. ‘Hardly recognised her. She’s so much bigger now.’

‘No food issue, now, then,’ El giggled.

‘Definitely not.’

El held up the two photo portraits, the mobile phone image of Zoe and the polaroid of Lillie. ‘What do you reckon? Any similarities?’

‘They both have blonde hair,’ Renard scoffed, then paused. ‘You don’t think—not Sven’s sister? I don’t think I ever…oh, maybe. There was that time…Milo’s accident. Hmmm.’

‘Worth Sven doing a DNA test?’

‘What about Lillie?’

‘And how are we going to get that to happen?’ El said. ‘I’ve been talking to Fifi, and she says that Jimmy wanted to give her a kit for her birthday, and she would have none of it.’

‘Heh,’ Renard chuckled, ‘probably knows the results and would open a can of worms. Sven says it’s all about image with that woman.’

‘Francis Renard, you are full of surprises.’ El kissed her husband. ‘So, it’s decided, we will contact Sven and suggest he do the test. Anyway, I already think he suspects he’s an uncle, again.’

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

Feature Photo: The Incoming Tide, Sellicks Beach © L.M. Kling 2017

***

Sometimes characters spring from real life,

Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.

Sometimes real life is just real life.

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Ready for the Weekend Friday–T-Team

September 13, 2024September 13, 2024 / lmkling / Leave a comment

The T-Team Next Generation

Tuesday July 9, 2013

Another Excuse Not to Climb the Rock

Part 2

[Eleven years ago, the T-Team, Next Generation embarked on their pilgrimage to Central Australia. Purpose: to scatter Dad’s ashes in his beloved Central Australia, in Ormiston Gorge.

Now just a teeny-weeny bit on the Family History front. I delved into some research concerning family traits. You see, the T-team pride themselves on their T-Traits (Dad stresses that the word “trait” is pronounced “tray”.) So, I decided to have a peek at what characteristics, us who are the T-Team, have that make us distinct from other families. I’ll elaborate in a future blog. But briefly, what comes to mind that aligns with the posts I read on Google, are hairline (straight but peaked up at each side of the temple), high forehead (Dad’s cousin always remarked this trait as a sign of intelligence), high cheek bones, good teeth, a penchant for puns and a certain amount of daring for adventure; hence the T-Team and their treks into the outback.

So, again, the virtual journey continues, to the Centre, Uluru and memories of that unforgettable holiday in 2013, with my brother and his family; the T-Team Next Generation.]

Marla Track

Mrs. T slept in the T-Van, while the rest of the T-Team walked the Marla Track to Kantju Gorge. There, we were awed by the caves hollowed out as if by waves crashing into them. We marvelled at the vivid red ochre paintings in rock caves carved out by the sea of time. Tourists filled these caves, spilling out the sides and edges, listening intently to the guides explaining the stories behind the artwork.

*[Photo 1: Rick awed by the cave art © L.M. Kling 2013]*

*[Photo 2: Listening to the tour guide © L.M. Kling 2013]*

*[Photo 3: Cave in Uluru © L.M. Kling 2013]*

‘Where’s the Indigenous guides?’ Anthony asked.

I shrugged.

We returned to the carpark near the entrance to climbing the Rock. “Closed for Cultural Reasons” the sign read this time.

Shoulders hunched; the T-Team trooped to their respective cars.

‘When will we be able to climb the Rock?’ my nephew asked his dad.

‘We’ll try again tomorrow,’ my brother replied.

*[Photo 4: Still no climbers © L.M. Kling 2013]*

Sunset on Uluru (July 8, 2013)

As the cloud and damp set in during the day of July 9, the T-Team congratulated themselves on completing the mission to view the sunset on the Rock the previous night. Anthony reported, ‘Alice Springs had one of its lowest temperatures ever; 8 degrees Celsius maximum.’

‘Wow! Just as well we saw the rock in all its glory last night,’ I added. ‘Dad always said that the Rock is at its best at sunset when there are clouds to the West.’

*[Photo 5: Sun begins to set, its golden rays on Uluru © L.M. Kling 2013]*

Someone thought that was not the case, but I argued that last night’s Uluru sunset was the best I had ever seen.

*[Photo 6: Setting sun turning the Rock orange © L.M. Kling 2013]*

The ever-changing colours of the massif amazed me; golden, then orange, then tangerine…until a rich deep red with the golden grasses glowing in the foreground.

*[Photo 7: And tangerine © L.M. Kling 2013]*

*[Photo 8: Then glowing © L.M. Kling 2013]*

And, with the photoshop features on my digital camera, I was able to make my image of Uluru, almost “chocolate box” quality. Not cheating, just capturing how I actually saw the famous Rock.

*[Photo 9 and Feature: Chocolate Box Rock © L.M. Kling 2013]*

And on that night, as I stood transfixed, taking photo after photo of the Rock, Mrs. T called out, ‘Hey! Look the other way!’

We turned.

‘Wow!’ I exclaimed. ‘What a show!’ The expanse of sky painted in every hue from yellow to crimson; the sun’s parting gift as it sank from this evening’s horizon.

*[Photo 10: Desert sunset on that night © L.M. Kling 2013]*

More frantic photographing ensued while most tourists ignored the glorious display behind them in preference to The Rock.

Then, as Uluru faded into monochrome shades, I overheard one fellow comment to his partner, ‘Is that all?’

*[Photo 11: Colour drains from the Rock into night © L.M. Kling 2013]*

The Phone Tree

Evening, and I used our portable camp stove to cook rice for tea. Anthony no longer complained about the use of the stove instead of the cooking facilities. Having skipped lunch, he was hungry, and he knew better than to expect the public BBQ to perform; especially considering a biting wind had sprung up.

The T-Lings, as they had done every night, planted their mobile phones at the base of the power pole which was not far from the BBQ. With cables attached, they left them there to charge up. ‘Would you look after our phones?’ they each asked, expecting me, as I was cooking, to keep an eye on their treasures.

*[Photo 12: Dreams of campfire from the past © C.D. Trudinger 1981]*

Night fell and as the wind turned bitterly cold, I made a toilet visit where I donned my thermals. On the way back from the toilet, I observed a group gathered around the communal firepit. They asked if I wanted to join, but I declined. The T-Team were playing games.

In some ways I regretted not accepting the invitation. We played card games but as the T-Crowd was too large for the small tent, I ended up playing cards outside in the cold and dark. There, half-frozen despite the best efforts of the thermal underwear, I taught my younger niece to play Patience.

Then, how pleasant it was to snuggle into our minus seven sleeping bags for sleep.

‘Oh, no!’ a T-Ling cried, then rustling. ‘Our phones!’

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2020; update 2024

Feature Photo: Chocolate Box Rock © L.M. Kling 2013

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