School’s back this week. And all the parents of school-aged children breathe a sigh of relief as their little and not-so-little treasures return to the classroom. So glad that for me, that season has passed.
Even so, a fitting tribute to the time I once was a teacher…
Feature Photo: Classroom, Hermannsburg © C.D. Trudinger circa 1955
My first memory of the verboten was the kitchen floor. Every Saturday afternoon, the kitchen floor took on the status of holy floor. Floor that has been washed with the sacred waters of floor cleaner and left untrodden to dry.
‘Don’t walk over the floor!’ Mum would yell after she had cleansed the linoleum floor. I looked with longing at the floor red with the gold and silver flecks in it. Inevitably I committed the sin of trespass on the holy floor of the kitchen and tracked a trail of my tell-tale footprints.
‘I told you not to walk on the floor!’ Mum would growl and smack me on the bottom.
But I had a good reason to walk on the sacred wet linoleum. It’s because Mum would excommunicate me into the backyard of boredom, so that she could get the cleaning done. And it’s because after she had shrouded the floor with water and soap, I would have to pee. The only way to the toilet of relief, was through the kitchen over the sacred floor.
As I grew up, the kitchen was barricaded during floor-cleaning sessions. Out of desperation, curiosity and loneliness in the backyard on Saturday afternoons, I became acquainted with the family next door. More particularly, the verboten made a gradual shift from kitchen floor to the boy and girl next door. I mean, really, Mum with her sacred floor business, brought the grief upon herself. If she had washed the floor during the week and not made such an issue of it on Saturday afternoons, I may never ventured next door. Their loo was available because their Mum washed the floor during the week, if she washed the floor at all under all the rubble of clothing from a large and uncontrollable rabble of children.
Jimmy proved attractive to me because of my parent’s opposition. Fifi, his sister, Jimmy and I were childhood friends. According to my parents, especially Mum, they were not good enough. I was told not to play with them. So, play with Fifi and Jimmy I did, and their multitude of brothers and sisters. We would romp through the jungle of their backyard of unmown lawn. The weeds were as high as us children. The family were working class and faking their Christian faith, my father would say. He still accepted a position at Mr. Edwards’s factory, but…And later, once Dad was gone, she was only too happy to accept Percy Edwards’s help.
My mother had her eye on the well-to do family, the Hoopers, around the corner whose two sons were progressing towards careers into law and medicine.
Mum would say, “The kids next door will never amount to anything.”
When Jimmy took me for a dinky ride on his bike and we returned home after dark, I was grounded. I hated being grounded. By the end of the week, I vowed not to play with Jimmy again. He was a bad influence. However, Saturday and the sacred floor rolled around again, and so did Jimmy on his Dragstar bike.
‘Come on! No one’s goin’ to know! Just one ride!’ he said.
The sun shone, the sky blue and my parents were out. We were off, pedalling down the gravel driveway where we nearly collided with my returning parents in their FJ Holden.
I had a choice, I could suffer another week’s grounding or have the indignity of a smack of the ruler across my hand. I took the ruler option and learnt to be more devious in the future. There are many ways to cross a wet kitchen floor without being caught. There were means and ways of continuing my friendship with Jimmy and Fifi without catching the ire of my parents. But then after their father deserted them, the enormous family moved.
I wonder what ever happened to that man.
Perhaps life would have been different if he’d hung around. Not that they missed old Mr. Edwards. Life seemed to improve for Jimmy and his family after he’d gone.
And despite, or should I say, in spite of my mother’s protestations, I ended up marrying Jimmy Edwards. I guess in my mother’s estimation, Jimmy being a musician didn’t amount to much, but me, I’m successful. Principal of a prestigious school, how good is that.
Shame mum’s not around to see that. Although, she would definitely be turning in her grave if she knew I’m still married Jim.
Now, those Hooper boys from around the corner…one of them was Dan, I remember. I wonder what happened to him. Did he become the lawyer my mother always said he was going to grow up to be?
El paused; painting brush poised in above the canvas. ‘Oh, Dan? Dan Hooper?’
Lillie raised an eyebrow. ‘You know him?’
El cleared her throat. Better not say too much or she’ll start to suspect. Change the subject. ‘Actually, I knew his brother, Al.’
‘Oh, yes, Al, the younger one. Bit weedy and pimply as I remember. So, did he become a doctor?’
El nodded. ‘He did…a psychiatrist, I think. But it was a long time ago and I think he had some crisis in his life and had a career change.’
Lillie snorted. ‘A mid-life crisis?’
‘You could say that.’
‘So, what career did he change to?’
‘Um…’ El bit her lip and dabbed the nose of Lillie’s painted image. ‘Teaching, I think.’
‘Haven’t heard of any Al Hooper in my domain.’
El smudged Lillie’s painted mouth. Oops! ‘I think he didn’t stay that long in teaching before he went into working for the secret service, ASIO, or something like that…’ El mumbled.
‘I’ll have to look him up,’ Lillie said breezily.
‘Good luck,’ El muttered.
‘What did you say?’
‘Nothing, but, um, I don’t think he’s got a digital profile, being in the secret service or whatever it is.’
‘Oh, you really don’t know; do you dear?’
El shrugged and wiped her mistake with her thumb. ‘So, tell me more about this Old Mr. Edwards. What was he like?’
At that moment, Jimmy reappeared in the studio. He held a tray with three flutes of sparkling wine.
‘Sparkling, anyone?’ he said.
© Tessa Trudinger 2025
*Feature Photo: Backyard © L.M. Kling 2021
***
Games days, Central Australian pilgrimmages, his garden, golf, table tennis…always having to win. These are the things that spring to mind when I remember my dad. Last Monday, he would’ve turned 97 if he hadn’t left this Earth for a more perfect life in heaven in 2012.
Another defining memory of Dad was his cars, except for his first one, a Gogo mobile, the rest were cheap, second-hand and the “that’ll do for the time being variety”.
This week I look back at the memory of one of these cars in the 100-word challenge.
© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2019; updated 2022
Feature Photo: Bathsheba in our Backyard © L.M. Kling nee Trudinger) 1969
***
Norwood
Saturday, May 1, 2022
1:00 to 5:00pm
El
When the football hammered on her favourite station, El switched to her USB drive and cheerful strains of Vivaldi swung into action. Nothing like this energetic Italian composer to get El into the mood of painting. Today, Lillie Edwards awaited another Saturday portraiture session.
El sighed as she replayed an awkward conversation with Dan. He so much wanted her to return to the force. El had put off the inevitable as long as possible. The longer she was away from the pressure of policing, the more she enjoyed the luxury of sleeping in, and spending each day as she pleased, the less she was inclined to return to the drudgery of work. She loved painting. Why spend days, weeks, months years behind a desk drowning in paperwork? Why waste time running multiple steps behind chasing criminals? Then, why spend all her hours again behind a desk researching, building up a case, just to watch the guilty slip through her virtual fingertips when at court, a clever defense lawyer convinces a jury to find them innocent?
With painting, she witnessed pleasant results in a few hours of dibbing and daubing while listening to her favourite podcast. Admittedly, lately, a certain crime story podcast was her go to of the month. Somehow, listening to crime stories proved more therapeutic than being involved in actual crime solving. Or so she told herself…
‘Would you consider returning to the force, El?’ Dan asked, desperation in his voice. ‘There’s nothing to stop you, now.’
‘I’ll think about it, and get back to you,’ El replied. The thought of returning to work, fighting the peak hour morning traffic, battling to find a park, and the daily grind of managing unruly people, set El’s teeth on edge.
That conversation happened on Tuesday.
Friday, Dan called again. He had asked, what was her decision.
While gazing out at the rolling waves from her floor to ceiling window, and still dressed in her dressing gown, El said, ‘I’m sorry, Dan, I’m not ready to come back.’
‘But why?’
‘I need more time.’ Just couldn’t break it to him that she really didn’t feel like ever returning. ‘The stress of the last couple of years has taken its toll.’
‘Oh, please reconsider, El.’ Dan’s voice softened to a whisper. ‘Just between you and me, Dee is driving me crazy. With her bean-counting.’
‘And her paranoia, no doubt.’ El snipped. ‘Look, it’s people like her that make the job an issue for me.’
‘But what about the challenge, the thrill of solving a case?’
‘Hmm, only to see it all fall apart and dissolve in court. And people like Dee who with their darn bean counting miss the whole point and give the defense lawyers a win on a silver platter.’ El shook her head.
‘Nah, I’m done.’
‘What? I thought you said you just needed more time.’ Dan sounded hurt.
‘Oh, I mean, for now. But if I decide not to return, I may still consider being a private detective. Be my own boss and bypass Dee and her cronies.’
‘Oh…but…’
‘Face it, Dan, I’ve had it up to here with the government and how they’ve treated us.’
‘But we need more…’ Dan sounded sad.
‘I know.’ El shifted in her seat on the lounge chair. Guilty. ‘Downward spiral. Less workers. More work for those left. Crime goes up. But-er-I’m pretty fragile at the moment. I can’t take the pressure.’
Renard chuckled in the background. ‘Can’t blame ya; they have treated public servants poorly. I’d quit too if I was you.’
El turned and glared at Renard who pretended to concentrate on the Advertiser crossword. She placed her finger on her mouth. ‘Shh!’
‘And you think I don’t have problems, El?’ Dan snapped. ‘You know, I’d much rather be an outback cop, on the coalface, than having to put up with all this cr—I mean politics here in the city. I mean, with all the demands put on me, I don’t have a life. It’s just work, and sleep. Hell, and then I can’t sleep because this cold case has got under my skin.’
‘Is it personal, Dan?’
‘Hell, yeah, it’s personal.’ Dan’s tone had a sense of urgency. ‘I mean, I remember Jimmy and Lillie Edwards from youth group. I remember when Lillie’s father Jan disappeared. And then, a year later, Percy, Jimmy’s father vanished. So strange. So strange.’
‘Perhaps, then, you are too involved,’ El said with a sniff, ‘you need to step back from it. perspective, remember. Just a thought, who says they didn’t run off together?’
‘Yeah, yeah, but something about the whole case doesn’t sit right. I can’t rest until I…’
‘Sounds like a rabbit hole, Dan.’
‘Well, let’s just say, Dee’s already dived in and buried herself in it. And so, I must go along and pull her out.’ Heavy breathing. ‘That’s why I wanted you to consider coming back. Helping. I mean, you came to me with the cold case. You asked me. The least you could do is…’
‘I know. I know. I regret that. Moment of weakness.’ El clenched her fists. Be strong. Resist temptation. ‘Sorry, Dan, no can do. I’ve reconsidered and I’ve got to put my mental health first, or I’ll be no use to anyone.’
‘Not even now we’ve found a body?’ Dan urged. ‘Not even a little bit curious?’
‘No, Dan.’
‘Please, can’t you just find time to do some digging. In an unofficial capacity, perhaps? Please?’
Renard swayed his head while filling in a crossword clue. ‘He’s desperate.’
‘You know that’s not…’
‘If you could just…I mean, I have a family…I’m so busy, Leo, my son has gone rogue. I think he has a girlfriend but…I don’t know where he is half the time. And I haven’t seen my girlfriend Jemima and our daughter Bella in weeks.’
El sighed. Nothing like a guilt trip to make her give in. ‘Alright, I’ll see what I can…’
‘Thank you! Thank you! I’ll send the details of discovery your way. Thank you.’
El pulled up in the wide driveway of the Edwards’ mansion. Just what she didn’t need, another hidden agenda behind the portrait session in honour of Lillie Edwards. Somehow, she envisioned the rabbit hole of the Edwards-von Erikson cold case drawing her into its vortex too.
She giggled. There was something in that idea that Percy and Jan had run off together. Then again, perhaps things turned sour, and Jan had given Percy the “heave-ho”. A variation on that famous cold case back in the ‘70’s of the body in the freezer.
El smiled and nodded while alighting from the car. Yes, she might start with that story and see if she sensed a reaction from Lillie.
Lillie, wearing a flowing, rainbow-coloured poncho, welcomed El into her mansion.
‘Sorry about the clutter, El,’ Lillie waved a hand at the stacks of books and piles of papers, tableaus ready to dance on what was intended to be the dining room table and floor. ‘Every holiday, I intend to tackle that lot, but…’
While skirting the newspaper piles at the edge of the open hallway, Lillie led El to the spare bedroom come art studio. Freshly brewed coffee percolated its aroma, filling the room. Lillie glided over to the table holding the coffee and a silver standing tray with a pyramid of cupcakes laden with icing. El mused, pink icing with cupcake. Would she scrape off the icing and eat the cake? Risk offending her portrait muse and host who had gone to all that trouble, slaving the whole morning buying those cupcakes from the local bakery?
‘Coffee? Cupcake?’ Lillie’s shrill voice shook El out of her sugar-frosted nightmare.
El bared her teeth in a polite smile and said, ‘I’ll have coffee, but, um, I’ll need to pass on the cake. My sugar levels were a bit up, so I need to…’
‘But they are gluten-free.’
Before El could make another excuse, a cake appeared on a Noritake plate which was graced with delicate grey leaves and accompanied by a matching cup and saucer filled with coffee and cream.
‘I thought we could have some afternoon tea before you get down to painting,’ Lillie said while biting into her icing with cupcake. Gluten-free. ‘I’m sure that’s how that famous artist on the ABC does it.’
‘Get to know the muse—I mean, person he’s painting, you mean?’ El said, then sipped her coffee. ‘So, in that vein, let me ask about your childhood. Where did you grow up?’
From that question, more followed with the answers. No painting that afternoon, only more coffee, more cake, then biscuits which were brought in by Lillie’s husband, Jimmy—interesting—and finally, to keep the conversation flowing, some white wine, a Moscato, from McLaren Vale. By the time the wine appeared, Jimmy had joined the party and El mused that this was the most successful informal interview she’d ever performed.
Something about Jimmy Edwards caused disquiet in El.
However, Lillie’s story about their history—Jimmy the boy next door, allayed El’s concerns…
© Tessa Trudinger 2025
Feature Photo: Cupcakes from Tealicious, Willunga © L.M. Kling 2024
***
The remaining 160km to Alice Springs progressed through sundown and twilight uneventfully…
Except for the car towing a camel trailer who decided to overtake us. An oncoming truck caused it to swerve back into our lane; the camels’ heads struggling to catch up with their necks at the force of the turn.
‘Missed the truck by that much,’ I remarked holding my fingers in pincer mode.
‘What the —! How do you get the thing to record?’ Hubby fiddled with the video camera. ‘Too late. Missed it.’
We watched the camel trailer disappear around a bend. ‘Bet that’s another event the T-Lings missed being too absorbed on their phones.’
Hubby pouted. ‘I should’ve been driving, then you could’ve caught it on video.’
6:30pm and a thick blanket of darkness had set in by the time we reached Alice Springs. By some miracle we’d managed to stay in convoy with the T-Team and had followed them through Heavitree Gap and into streets of the town. The blackness of night seemed to suck the glow out of the streetlights.
It was not long before, the T-Team too, were absorbed into the darkness after we missed the first set of traffic lights.
‘We’re stuffed now,’ Hubby grizzled. ‘Where’s the map?’ He turned and groped around the baggage on the back seat. A fruitless search.
‘There’s Richard.’ I flashed the car’s lights and he remained parked as I overtook the van.
‘Why didn’t you stop?’ Hubby started to panic. ‘You can’t stop now. You’re embarrassing everyone.’ This all said on the quiet and empty streets of Alice Springs. ‘Hey! Where are you going?’
‘There’s nowhere to park,’ I finally managed a word in edgewise as my hubby took a breath in between his hysteria and panic. I then stopped near the entrance to the Chifley Hotel. I glanced at the enticing amber lights leading to luxury and comfort. ‘You did mention staying at a hotel.’
‘Oh, you’ve lost them!’ Hubby snapped. ‘I’ll take over. You have no idea!’
I allowed Hubby to take control of the car. We wandered around the hotel resort carpark, and then out onto the road. We meandered around some more streets until we ended up on a dead-end road near a backpacker’s hotel.
I rang my brother, Richard and he instructed us to drive to a road with a name and stay put. We were to tell Richard the name of the road, and with the help of his Sat-Nav, he’d find us.
More driving round, and round…until we chanced upon a road with an actual name attached to it. Stott Street. There we parked. And waited. And waited…and waited.
‘You better get out that road map for a list of motels,’ Hubby said. ‘Can’t wait around here all night.’
I hunted in the dark for my bag, then finding that little treasure, I fumbled around its clutter for the road map. Under the dim glow of the streetlight, I scanned the pages. You would think that such a brochure would have a handy list of hotels and motels…but no. ‘There’s no list of accommodation I can see.’
‘Oh, that’s just great!’ Hubby sniffed.
‘I’m sorry, I made a mistake. I should’ve stopped near Richard, even if it had been an illegal park,’ I said. ‘Would you forgive me?’
‘Oh, all right,’ he sighed. ‘Sorry for snapping.’
Just at that moment, the T-Team van appeared, and we followed them, very slowly and carefully to their friend’s home.
Although their house was huge, by this time Hubby and I were not sure about setting our tent up in the dark, in their back yard. We had been warned of visiting or possibly resident wildlife, namely dingoes.
While drinking a most welcome cup of tea, we discussed and scanned the phone book for hotel accommodation. Our hostess was fine about us staying in a hotel as she wasn’t sure about the wildlife in her backyard either, or whether we’d be able to secure our tent as the ground was quite hard. She suggested a couple of hotels, but they had already closed their bookings for the night.
By this time, it was about 7.30pm, and our stomachs were rumbling. The T-Lings insisted on Hungry Jacks as our nephew had accrued some vouchers. So, Richard drove us all in the van to this venue for burgers.
The line-up was long, and the service was, to say the least, slow; partly because a certain T-Ling was very particular about getting value for his voucher. By the time my nephew had finished his order, I had eaten my chips. I think the African girl who was serving looked relieved after such voucher discussions with my nephew. Making the discussions and our orders understood were not helped by the fact that both girls serving struggled to comprehend what we said, as English was not their first language.
Then, as we waited for our nieces to receive their orders, a group of Indigenous people piled out of a bus and walked in. I noticed that they wore T-shirts with Areyonga written on them. I smiled at them and silently remembered the special time we, as the T-Team, had there in 1981; the oasis, the beautiful singing of the Indigenous who lived there and the hospitality shown to us.
When we left the burger shop and had piled into our van, my older niece said, ‘Now I know what it feels like to be a minority.’
Hubby and I managed to book a room at the Chifley Hotel. The receptionist apologised to Hubby that they only had a standard room available. But for us, the standard room was most acceptable; it even had a print of Mt. Hermannsburg on the wall.
We flopped down on the bed and relished in our comfort and luxury.
© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2020; updated 2025
Feature Photo: Chifley Hotel Grounds © L.M. Kling 2013
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