Travelling Friday–Road Trip to Sydney (2)

Road Trip Adventure in the Charger (2)

No Headlights

The highway, so straight, never curving to the right nor the left, was hypnotic. Again, in the late afternoon, the burning sun on the back of my neck, now sinking in the West, and the rushing of air from the open window, lulled me into a state of semi-sleep.

By increments, as sunset turned to dusk, the air cooled. I trusted Rick to keep us safe on the highway to Sydney. I noted Cordelia resting her head on Mitch’s shoulder, and then I sank into a deep, satisfying sleep.

[Photo 1: Sunset near Sale, Victoria © L.M. Kling 1989]

‘Oh, no!’ Rick said.

‘What?’ Mitch cried.

‘We have no headlights.’

‘What do you mean, no headlights?’ I asked.

The car slowed to a stop by the side of the road, again. Groggy from sleep and the hypnotic effect of the endless highway, we piled out of the Charger and milled around the non-functioning headlights.

Mitch peered at the offending lights. ‘Are you able to fix them, Rick?’

Rick pulled up the hood and, in the dim light, examined the engine. He poked around in the dark nether regions of the Charger’s insides.

Mitch hovered over Rick’s back while he prodded and poked at the parts in the dimness. ‘Do you need a torch?’

‘Do you have one, Mitch?’

Mitch shrugged. ‘I don’t…didn’t think…would you have one in the glove box?’

‘Might have, but the battery’s gone flat,’ all mumbled to the engine.

Mitch had already left to torch-hunt in the Charger’s glove box. At this time, I watched Jack busy himself sorting through luggage at the rear of the vehicle.

Cordelia sat all hunched over on her duffel bag. ‘I still don’t feel well,’ she said.

‘Are you carsick?’ I asked.

‘No, it’s worse than that,’ she answered. ‘I think I need to see a doctor.’

I gazed around the silent, darkened landscape. ‘Maybe at the next town, we can try to find one.’

Jack called, ‘Hey, I’ve found another torch.’

The feeble light of Rick’s torch wandered over the car engine. 

‘It’s the alternator, it’s cactus. Needs replacing,’ Rick said. ‘We’ll need to park here for the night, and in the morning, I’ll fix it at the next town.’

Cordelia, clutching her stomach, walked up to the lads. ‘I need to see a doctor; I’m not feeling at all well.’

Mitch glanced at the girl, his eyes wide and brow furrowed. ‘Perhaps we’d better push on and find a doctor—hospital—something.’

‘How can we?’ Jack said. ‘We have no headlights. It’d be dangerous.’

‘I’m not driving without headlights,’ Rick said.

‘How far to the nearest town?’ Mitch raised his voice. ‘The girl needs help.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘How far is it to Dubbo?’

Mitch grabbed the RAA strip map, Jack handed him the torch, and with the stronger light, Mitch flipped the pages and then studied the relevant page.

Cordelia sat down on her bag and was silent.

[Photo 2: Sunset at Brachina © L.M. Kling 1999]

‘Says here,’ Mitch began, and then continued, ‘we are twenty miles from Dubbo.’

‘I’m still not sure…’ Jack said.

‘Oh, come on,’ Mitch huffed, ‘only twenty miles. If we use the torches for our light, we can get there safely.’

‘What, waving the torches out the side of the windows?’ Rick said, ‘Are you mad?’

‘If we go slowly, we can make it,’ Mitch said. ‘Come on, give it a try. For Cordelia’s sake, we have to try.’

[Photo 3: Rick will save the day…eventually © courtesy R.M. Trudinger 1983]

At Mitch’s insistence to save this damsel in distress, we piled back in the car and crawled down the highway, torches flashing back and forth from the rear windows.

After a few minutes, Rick shook his head, his curls flopping about his damp forehead. ‘It’s not working.’

‘What about,’ Mitch sighed, ‘what about, if I sit in the front and you and I shine the torches from the front.’

‘If you think it’ll make a difference,’ Rick muttered.

Mitch changed places with Rick, who was driving, and Rick moved into the front passenger seat where Jack had been sitting. Jack then bumped Cordelia into the middle and sat behind Mitch.

The car crawled a few metres with Rick and Mitch waving torches from their front positions.

I looked behind me at the expanse of the dark landscape, and the sky was filled with the Milky Way.

‘I hope the cops don’t catch us,’ I murmured.

‘What cops?’ Jack said.

The Charger slowed and then stopped.

‘It’s not working,’ Rick said.

‘But we’ve hardly moved,’ Mitch said.

‘I think it’ll be better if we don’t use the torches and I drive by the starlight.’ Rick sniffed. ‘I think my eyes will adjust. And we’ll take it slowly.’

‘I can do that,’ Mitch said.

‘No, I’ll drive.’ Rick pushed open his door and marched over to the driver’s side. ‘It’s my car. I know how to handle it.’

Mitch breathed in and out with an emphasised sigh. ‘If you insist.’

Rick forged ahead on the highway to Dubbo at a leisurely twenty miles an hour. I know it was twenty miles (not kilometres) an hour as it took us an hour to reach the outskirts of Dubbo. Mitch couldn’t resist the urge to hang his arm out with Jack’s torch, offering slim beams of light to guide Rick as he drove. Fortunately, we met no police on patrol.

[to be continued…]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2023

Feature Photo: The Tough and Rugged Front of one of Rick’s re-creations, a Chrysler Valiant Charger after “roughing it” in the Flinders Ranges. Friend Dancing at Port Germein © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) circa 1984

***

Summer in Australia is approaching, and so is the season for holidays and intrepid road trips …

Or for reading adventure …

Want more? Dreaming of travelling down under? Why not take a virtual journey with the T-Team Adventures in Australia?

Click here on:

 Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

And escape in time and space to Central Australia 1981…

Family History Friday–Kintsugi Kin

[Heading up to Christmas, reminds me we all have them: the proverbial “black sheep” in our families. Or it might be the skeletons we want remain hidden.

As it was, in the past week, I didn’t intend to, but it happened. I made another discovery which I can’t wait to tell my mum. I tell my mum everything.

It all began when I did some research on backyard burning and the iconic Besser block incinerator from the 1960s. A fellow writer in our writers’ group was adamant that burning was banned during the summer months back then. However, I remember things differently, and so does Hubby. Anyway, as I was researching, I came across a map of Adelaide CBD during the 1920s. Don’t I just love incidental detective work! After a little more “digging,” I think I’ve found my great-uncle’s clothing shop location. Amazing!

Then, as I delved into the relatives from that branch, My Heritage offered some fascinating information which kept me burrowing down another rabbit hole. I will not bore you with the details, but I will be telling my mum.

So, on another note, here’s a refined re-blog from not so long ago.]

In the Steps of Sherlock Holmes

Some time ago, Hubby and I received our DNA results. Dear Hubby received his a few days before me.

So, over the last year, I have been familiarising myself with the process and slowly building our family trees. Early on, I discovered a truth, which could be said to be a “skeleton” in one of our ancestral lines. I added the details to see if anything further came up. My Heritage calls this a “smart match”. Nothing did, but I left it there.

[Photo 1: Sherlock Holmes Hubby, Reichenbach Falls, Switzerland © L.M. Kling 2014]

For certain family members, this truth appeared absurd and too difficult to comprehend. Surely, that ancestor wouldn’t. Didn’t. No one told us that. You have it all wrong, Lee-Anne.

Hence, Lee-Anne (me), being a good person, only wanting the best for the family, deleted the suspect members from that branch of the family.

Then, curiosity set in. Who was that ancestor’s mother? Father? My husband suggested we go down the line to the descendants and put in a particular name.

This I did.

You wouldn’t believe it, but the same results, only this time verified by the official birth and marriage records. My original hunch had been correct. Moreover, in the spirit of Sherlock Holmes, I managed to cross-match the added, yet odd, family members with DNA, and behold, a match.

Now, the reason I’m being so vague about the whole ancestral situation, which I might add, is responsible for our existence, is because out of respect for some people, the details of such conceptions are to remain private/personal; too personal to be published.

Isn’t it interesting that for people who want to protect their reputation, the unacceptable behaviour of other members of their family, ancestors, or close relatives must remain hidden, buried, and plainly, not discussed. Such individuals may even be ostracised from the family.

Yet, such flawed individuals can still be in other circles and be a valued and much-loved member of the community.

My dad’s cousin, Dr. Malcolm Trudinger, for instance. The story goes that he had a problem with alcohol. Legend has it that he couldn’t do surgery without a nip or two before the operation.

Malcolm’s alcohol addiction was too much for his immediate family, who, it would seem, distanced themselves from him. Maybe it was the other way around, and he felt not good enough for them. Whatever…

According to articles about Malcolm on Trove, he was regularly in trouble with the law. Infractions that in the 21st century, we’d consider a nuisance, or minor, but in the 1940’s and 50’s were important. For example, his car making too much noise at night in town. Or even one time, merely driving his car late at night. Another time, he was charged with causing a scene at a function.

Despite these misdemeanours, as I see them (glad my brother and I didn’t live in those times—in his youth, my brother loved doing “donuts” and “burnouts” in his car like in Top Gear at night with his mates), the folk on the West Coast of South Australia loved Dr. Malcolm Trudinger. He was their hero. He once helped rescue people from a shipwreck off the coast during a storm. He cared and was always there for the sick and injured.

I remember my mother telling me the story of how a person, upon meeting my father, and learning his name was Trudinger, sang high praises for his cousin Malcolm. The sad thing was that although he was still alive when Mum and Dad were first married, Mum never got to meet Malcolm.

[Photo 1: Dr. Malcolm Trudinger © photo courtesy of L.M. Kling circa 1930]

Dr. Malcolm Trudinger was such a vital part of the West Coast community that they established a rose garden in his honour after he passed away in the early 1960s. We have heard that rose cultivation was his passion, and his roses were prize-winning. My niece discovered the garden when she and her partner were on a road trip passing through Elliston. She couldn’t have been more chuffed having found a Trudinger with a rose garden to his name. It showed Malcolm was a loved member of the community despite his demons.

This is what, I believe, grace is all about—valuing and loving people as they are. We are all flawed. Rather than hide the imperfections, celebrate the person, their life, and the goodness they brought to the community. It’s our pride and wanting to look good to others that makes us cover up our sins or those of our kin. But also, we may be protecting their reputation too.

The reality is, we are all fallen, and we all struggle. No one is perfect. We are all cracked pots. Yet, like in the Japanese art of Kintsugi (the repairing of broken pots), there is beauty that shines out through the cracks.

[Photo 3 and feature: Kintsugi pot © courtesy of Freepik]

And so, it is with our imperfect ancestors. When you think about it, it’s the ones whose stories are different and colourful that we find most interesting.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2024; updated 2025

Feature Photo: Hubby as Sherlock Holmes, Reichenbach Falls, Switzerland © L.M. Kling 2014

***

Want more, but different?

Check out my Central Australian adventures.

Click on the links:

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Travelling Friday–Tnorala (Gosses Bluff) Conservation Reserve

[In 2013, 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.

Once every month on a Friday, I will take you on a virtual trip to the Centre and memories of that unforgettable holiday in 2013, with my brother and his family, the T-Team Next Generation.

This time, the T-K Team ventured out West of Hermannsburg to explore Tnorala (Gosse Bluff).]

Big Day Out West

Night

An alarm wailed.

I sat up and nudged Anthony. ‘What’s that about?’

Anthony snorted, smacked his lips and mumbled. ‘I don’t know. An alarm, I think.’

‘Shouldn’t we tell P? It might be their shop.’

Anthony snorted, turned over and recommenced snoring.

For some time, I lay in bed. Sleepless. The alarm was bleating with lights flashing through our window. I assumed that, like car alarms in the city, a cat or dog had set the thing off and the owners would sort out the problem … eventually.

Eventually, the alarm stopped and somehow, I fell into a good, deep sleep.

[Photo 1: Sunrise in the Centre © C.D. Trudinger circa 1955]

Morning

I stretched and then yawned. ‘Good morning, Anthony, did you have a good sleep?’

‘No,’ he grumbled. ‘You snored!’

Breakfast

After a shower, getting dressed while Anthony caught up on the sleep he apparently missed out on while I snored (nothing about the alarm, I might add), I chatted with K over breakfast.

‘The store was broken into last night,’ she said.

‘So, that’s what the alarm last night was all about,’ I remarked.

‘Yep, happens on a regular basis. One of the windows needs replacing, again.’

P joined us. Leaning on the kitchen table, he added, ‘If you want anything at the shop, you’ll have to wait until it opens. The store was broken into.’ He chuckled. ‘One lady has tried to impress the cops with her tracking skills.’

‘Who tried to break in? Do the police have any idea?’

P shrugged. ‘Kids probably.’

[Photo 2: Back in the 1940s, some roads in the centre of Australia were virtually non-existent and had to be built © S.O. Gross circa 1941]

Late Morning

After a slow morning, mooching, chatting with P (K had gone to work), Bible study and then preparing some lunch, Anthony and I commenced our day trip to the Gosse Range. After some twenty kilometres of bitumen, we took the turn onto the Mereenie Loop and the road deteriorated.  The Ford suffered the juddering of corrugations and slipping and sliding on silty red sand. Anthony slowed the car and crawled at a tense 20 km per hour.

I clutched the handhold of the door. ‘Is the car going to survive? I feel like the car’s going to fall apart.’

‘Why do you think I’m driving so slow?’ Anthony snapped.

[Photo 3: My Grandpa’s truck did break down and they had to use donkeys to pull the truck back to “civilisation” © S.O. Gross 1941]

In the distance, a truck approached us, powering up the road at speed, bull dust billowing behind it.

‘Close your windows,’ Anthony said.

‘They are,’ I replied. ‘I know what bulldust is and does.’ Didn’t fancy my nose, mouth and eyes filled with the stuff as they were in 1981.

[Photo 4: Rough road—Mereenie Loop. Gosse Ranges in background © L.M. Kling 2013]

Midday

The truck powered past us, leaving us behind in a cloud of bulldust. Thankfully, the Ford, with its windows wound up, shielded us from the red menace, and we continued to judder along the corrugations for what seemed an eternity.

[Photo 5: Vehicle comes closer © L.M. Kling 2013]

Then we rounded a bend in the road and, there, the Gosse Range spread out before us.

We stopped and captured the range, dressed in a soft mauve in the midday sun. As we prepared to jump in the car, another vehicle came roaring up the road towards us. This time, I caught the car with my camera as it sped up the road as if it were a racing track.

[Photo 6: Gosse Range Approach © L.M. Kling 2013]

With the car disappearing in a cloud of dust behind our Ford with us safely in it, we prepared to complete our journey to the Gosse Range.

Anthony glanced in the rear-view mirror. ‘Oh, cattle.’

‘Must get photos,’ I retrieved my camera from its bag, ‘evidence for your mum; she does not believe that cattle exist in Central Australia.’

Anthony switched off the engine, and we piled out to take these important photos.

[Photo 7: Proof of cattle © L.M. Kling 2013]

After the cattle were caught on camera, we crawled our way to the Gosse Range turn-off. By this time, the jiggling and juggling along the route must have rattled Anthony’s senses and he had become quite cavalier. ‘What the heck, the road doesn’t look too bad.’

I stared at the two-tyre rutted track. I knew, having been there some 36 years before, that the track would not be much of a track further on. ‘Better to park the car just off the side of the road and hike to the Gosse Range, actually.’

‘Looks alright to me.’

‘Okay, if you must. We’ll drive as far as we can and then walk the rest of the way.’

This we did. Our trusty old Ford lumped and “harrumphed” over the rocks and ruts until we decided to spare the Ford any further risk and indignity to its undercarriage and suspension. Then we hiked the final kilometre through the gap and into the pound.

[Photo 8: Trek into Gosse Range © L.M. Kling 2013]

‘I’m so glad we were able to walk through the gap,’ I said while marvelling at the cliffs and boulders on each side. ‘If we’d been able to drive through, as we did in the Rover in 1977, I would’ve missed the beauty of these formations.’

[to be continued…]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2021; updated 2025

Feature Photo: Racing along the Mereenie Loop © L.M. Kling 2013

***

Virtual Travel Opportunity

For the price of a cup of coffee (takeaway, these days),

Click on the link and download your Kindle copy of my travel memoir,

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari. (Australia)

T-Team @ Home–Barossa Valley

[Travellers to Australia often overlook Adelaide, South Australia, as the poor cousin to the eastern states. Situated in an unfashionable corner of the globe, the city and its surrounds have the reputation of being too hot, too dry, and too awkward to visit.

Welcome to my home city and state.]

T-K Team Take on the Barossa Valley

Shortly before the Swiss relatives arrived, panic among the brothers-K set in. Yes, we were going to the Barossa Valley. But where?

My husband and his brother, P1, cobbled together a plan of the day: wine-tasting, sightseeing, a bakery for lunch, and of course, toilet stops at regular intervals.

We converged as the formidable family of ten at Williamstown, eventually in the car park next to, yes, you guessed it, after a scenic drive through the city and hills, the toilets. Most of the group needed a coffee, and although we’d been warned that on Sundays, many bakeries are closed, we found a most accommodating bakery-come-art gallery, where cappuccinos and chai teas revived us.

[Photo 1: Dummies in carpark © L.M. Kling 2017]

Stuffed dummies, one of whom was named Cyril, waited by the stone wall of the car park. The sign touted that they were part of a scarecrow trail that weekend. I guess they were doing their bit for tourism.

Energised, and with the help of a most cooperative mobile phone navigation app, the K-Team whisked over to the Whispering Wall, a dam holding Adelaide’s water supply. I wandered over to the wall while the others raced to the other side. My husband’s voice sounded as clear as if he were standing next to me. Eerie.

[Photo 2: Whispering Wall © L.M. Kling 2017]

Next stop, and most important, Chateau Yaldara Winery, where we commenced our wine-sampling tour. Our Swiss visitors enjoyed their “schlucks” of Shiraz hosted by a salesgirl with a broad Barossa-Australian accent. I relished the photographic delights of the historic mansion and the feature fountain.

[Photo 3: Chateau Yaldara fountain © L.M. Kling 2017]

Once again, the scarecrows were lurking around the garden.

[Photo 4: Scarecrows in garden © L.M. Kling 2017]

Every road or laneway around here leads to a winery. The Barossa produces some of the best wine in the world. Nineteenth-century migrants from Prussia-Silesia (now eastern Germany and Poland) came to South Australia and settled in the Barossa around Tanunda. Some were my ancestors.

My husband told our visitors, ‘The Barossa has some of the oldest Shiraz vines in the world, having been planted as early as 1847 by Johann Friedrich August Fiedler.’

The K-Team arrived at a tourist-crowded Jacobs Creek winery. This popular winery permitted five free tastings before paying for more. Happy with five small samples, the K-Team admired the view of vineyards, leaves turning autumnal gold, and rows of vines stretching to the hills, plus a meander along the trails around the winery. Not to be outdone, scarecrows lounged in the lawns by the tennis court that sported oversized tennis balls and racquets.

[Photos 5 Jacobs Creek Winery © L.M. Kling 2017]
[Jacobs Creek surrounds with Scarecrows © L.M. Kling 2017]

After purchasing supplies for Tuesday night’s party, we tested our breath with the complimentary breathalyser. All the K-team drivers were deemed safe to drive.

So, a jolly, but not too jolly, K-Team progressed to Tanunda in search of a bakery. I spotted the Red Door Café and led the team there. A waitress guided the K-Team of 10 to the courtyard garden out the back, as inside was full. We sat at separate tables, my husband and I with our younger Swiss cousin and boyfriend next to the Kids’ corner. Most of the K-Team supped on the Café’s specialty burger. Excellent choice, as it was a late lunch that would tide us over for tea.

[Photo 7: Burger © L.M. Kling 2017]

Satisfied with this most welcome and tasty lunch, the K-Team set off for Seppeltsfield Winery. After driving through kilometres of road lined with giant date palms, the K-Team arrived at the grand estate. The hall, a massive shed, actually, teemed with tasters. After more sampling and marvelling at the beautiful grounds, complete with vintage cars, we picked up our ordered wines at the designated shop.

Photo 8
[Photos 8 & 9: Seppeltsfield and surrounds © L.M. Kling 2017]

As one of the oldest wineries, the Seppelts family was so rich, they built their own family mausoleum that presided over their estate. The K-Team made an impromptu stop to climb the steps to the family monument and then absorb the breathtaking view. The sun broke through the clouds, so completing the magical scene.

[Photo 10: View from Mausoleum © L.M. Kling 2017]

Peter Lehmann’s Winery was not far. Plenty of time, so we thought. But when we arrived, the car park appeared deserted. The owners emerged and informed the disappointed K-Team that they were closed for the day. The toilets, though, weren’t, and the K-Team made effective use of them while I took photographic advantage of the mellow tones of Peter Lehmann’s garden.

[Photo 11: PL garden © L.M. Kling 2017]

The K-Team reserved the late afternoon for Mengler’s Hill, which features an assortment of sculptures. We puzzled over the meaning of some of the international artistic offerings, but the collection seemed happy to be presiding over the Barossa. I observed that by this time, the scarecrows had slunk away and were nowhere to be seen.

[Photo 12: View of Tanunda from Menglers Hill © L.M. Kling 2017]

Then, finally, as the sun sank towards the horizon, the K-Team hiked the one-hour circuit of Kaiser Stuhl National Park.

‘Wildlife is best seen at dusk and dawn,’ P1 said.

During our walk, we detected an echidna, then later on, kangaroos. Any koalas, though, remained hidden from view.

Photo 13: Echidna © L.M. Kling 2017]

While our Swiss guests hunted for wildlife, I caught the sunlight on eucalyptus trees and the gnarled forms of branches and trunks with my camera; future subjects for paintings, I hope.

Photo: 14.
[Photos 14 & 15: Trees and light, gnarled trees © L.M. Kling 2017]

It had been a long and full day, and my husband’s mobile phone, drained of battery power and starved of tower transmissions, was by this time grumpy. As revenge for being deprived of its usual mobile-phone fixes, it became intent on leading us astray. In Angaston, when we finally arrived there after the phone’s GPS took us on a meandering scenic route, the phone demanded in a passive-aggressive voice, ‘Take the next right.’ Then, ‘Take the next right.’ Then again, ‘After thirty metres, take the next right.’

‘Hey, it’s taking us in circles,’ I said. ‘Ignore it and go straight ahead.’

The phone cut in. ‘Take the next right,’

I pointed at the sign to Adelaide. ‘No, follow the sign.’

As we drove down the highway to Gawler, the phone bleated, ‘At the first opportunity, make a U-turn.’

‘No!’ we shouted.

The phone insisted. ‘Turn left and make a U-turn.’

I filmed the phone map spinning in every direction. ‘It looks like it’s going nuts,’ I said. ‘I’m turning it off.’

I switched off the phone, and we completed the journey to Adelaide in peace.

[Photo 16: Sun setting on Menglers Hill © L.M. Kling 2019]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2017; updated 2019; 2025

Feature Painting: One Day in the Barossa © L.M. Kling 2018

***

Dreaming of an Aussie Adventure?

Click on the links below:

The T-Team With Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

To download your Amazon Kindle copy of the story …

And escape in time and space to the Centre of Australia

More Memoir Friday–Road Trip to Sydney

[Keeping with the car-theme this week. Bought a new secondhand car. Sold our car. I say, if I’m a bit muddle-headed, it’s because of all the dealing with vehicles, banking, and paperwork that goes with it. The new-for-us car is beautiful, though and everybody involved is smiling.]

Road Trip to Sydney, the summer of 1979 – Episode 1

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

Lost Control

A conference on the gifts of the Holy Spirit. I wonder what gifts God has for me? I pondered while dozing in the back seat of my brother Rick’s Chrysler Charger. And Dad…why was it that Dad had to go all on his own by car to the conference? Oh, well…much more fun travelling with my peers.

Crunch!

I sat up. Rubbed my eyes. ‘What happened?’

The car fishtailed. Rocking the carload of us back and forth.

‘Hey, mate!’ Rick, my brother, yelled at the driver, ‘Jack! You trying to kill us?’

Without reply, Jack bit his thin upper lip and swung the Charger to the right, and into oncoming traffic.

I gasped.

A truck bore down on us.

Jack, who reminded me of Abraham Lincoln, clenched his strong jaw and corrected back to the left. Keep left, that’s what you do when driving in Australia. Jack’s usually blonde curls appeared dark from perspiration.

The semitrailer gushed past us, sucking the air out of our open windows.

Rick held up his thumb and forefinger in pincer mode. ‘You missed them by that much.’

[Photo 1: Rick’s Charger in strife © L.M. Kling circa 1984]

Rick’s navy-blue tank top was soaked with sweat around the neckline under his mouse-brown curls, and under his strong arms. Mid-January and the full car with only open windows for air-con, steamed with heat. And body odour.

To my right in the back seat, Mitch, taller and thinner than my brother but sporting chestnut brown curly hair, wiped his damp mauve polo shirt and then sighed, ‘That was close.’

Cordelia, in the briefest of shorts and a tight-fitting t-shirt, showing off her classic beauty and assets, sat on the other side of Mitch. She clutched her stomach. ‘I feel sick.’

Mitch leaned forward and tapped Rick on the arm. ‘How long till we reach the next town?’

‘I think I’m going to throw up,’ Cordelia said.

Rick nudged Jack. ‘I think you’d better stop.’

Jack rubbed one hand on his blue jeans, straightened his long white shirt, placed his hand again on the steering wheel, and kept driving.

Cordelia cupped her hand under her chin and groaned.

I smoothed my white wrap-around skirt and then brushed my light cream-coloured blouse patterned with blue roses. No way did I want Cordelia to mess up my most flattering-to-my-slim-figure- figure clothes.

[Photo 2: In my slimming white wrap-around feeding a penguin at Cleland National Park © M.E. Trudinger 1979]

‘Stop!’ Rick shouted.

‘I can’t!’ Jack said and continued to speed down the highway. The golden expanse of the Hay Plains, dried out by the fierce summer heat, spanned the horizon. White posts flitted past. The red-brown line of bitumen of the highway stretched to its vanishing point on that horizon. A faded white sign flashed past. Dubbo, 265 miles. How long had Australia been metric? A few years at least; not that one would know, travelling in outback Australia in early 1979. Still…

Another groan from Cordelia.

Rick screamed at Jack. ‘Stop!’

Jack slowed the car and rumbled onto the gravel beside the road.

Cordelia leapt out and hunched over a shrivelled wheat stalk. I looked away and covered my ears from the inevitable sound of chunder.

‘That was close,’ Mitch said.

‘Remember that drunk guy, your brother brought back to Grandma’s?’ Rick said. ‘Took me a week to get the smell out of her Toyota.’

‘Hmm,’ Mitch replied. ‘That was unfortunate.’

‘You mean, the guy who kept singing “Black Betty”?’ I asked. I remembered that fellow. He had messy blonde hair and a moustache. He lounged on the back seat of Grandma’s car while I sat all prim and proper in the front, waiting for Mitch’s brother to drive us to Lighthouse Coffee Lounge. ‘He kept saying I was so innocent.’

‘Well,’ Mitch said, ‘you are.’

I guess I was 15, but hated to admit it.

Cordelia stumbled back into the car. ‘That’s better.’

[Photo 3 and feature: Proud owner of his Chrysler Charger © courtesy of R.M. Trudinger 1983]

Rick and Jack arranged to swap places. So, after a brief stretch of legs and a nearby scraggly-looking bush receiving five visitors, we set off on our quest for Sydney. After all, we still had ages to go before arriving there for the Revival Conference. We hoped to arrive with enough spare time to see the sights Sydney had to offer.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2023; Updated 2025

***

Summer in Australia is approaching, and so is the season for holidays and intrepid road trips …

Or for reading adventure …

Want more, but yet able to travel down under?

Why not take a virtual journey with the T-Team Adventures in Australia?

Click here on:

 Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

And escape in time and space to Central Australia 1981…

100-Word Challenge–My Dad’s Car Tales

[Another fond memory from my childhood…and Dad’s catchcry, “for the time being” took a breather when, after being promoted to Deputy Principal, he bought the Holden Premier. Also, a timely piece as our recent Remembrance Day, November 11, marked the 50th anniversary of the sacking of our then prime Minister Gough Whitlam by the Governor General Sir John Kerr. I still remember where I was when that happened. At home watching the news and old Gough saying: ‘Well may we say, “God save the Queen”, because nothing will save the Governor-General.’

Anyway, a car tale from our journey to Canberra where my education in Australian politics began.]

Feature Photo: Another Holden, my brother’s rebuilt Holden Monaro © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) circa 1978

The Dream Car—Holden Premier EH, Serena (100-word challenge)

Serena, our dream family car ferried the T-Team to Canberra. In 1975, hardly a maiden for this voyage, she drove us to our destination; a comfortable, safe ride over the Hay Plains. No breakdowns. No stranded waiting for road service on the hot dusty side of the road. A smooth ride that rocked me to sleep; the vinyl with scent fresh from the caryard to us.

She mounted the snow shovelled roads to Thredbo. From her window, my first sight of snow on a brilliant sunny day, snow shining on twisted eucalypt branches.

Memories.

When Dad sold her, mum cried.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2019; updated 2022; 2025

***

Explore the rugged beauty of the Australian outback from the comfort of your own lounge room.

Take a journey into Central Australia with the T-Team …

Click on the links:

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or

Catch up on the exploits of Boris the over-grown alien cockroach, and the mischief and mayhem he generates. Click on the links below…

Diamonds in the Cave (new release)

How could a pleasant bunch of Wends turn so which-hunting nasty?

The Lost World of the Wends

The Hitch-hiker

Mission of the Unwilling

Travelling Friday–Hermannsburg Revisited

[In 2013, 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.

Over the next few months, I will take you on a virtual trip to the Centre and memories of that unforgettable holiday in 2013, with my brother and his family; the T-Team Next Generation.

This time, the T-K Team (my husband and I) return to Hermannsburg and catch up with friends there.]

Hermannsburg Here We Come

As we powered along the sealed Larapinta Highway, I mused, what a difference some 60-70 years makes. When Mum T lived in Hermannsburg, back in the 1940’s and 50’s, the trip to Alice Springs was a long arduous half-a-day journey on a dirt track in a truck where one spent several days in Alice Springs stocking up on supplies.

[Photo 1: Travelling in Central Australia in 1950’s required a stop for lunch…]
[Photo 1b: Or for the car to recover… In outback Australia, there were few sealed roads back then © M. E. Trudinger 1956]

As we passed the turn off to Jay creek, I said to Hubby, ‘Mum told us the story of her mum (Grandma Gross) who, when the Finke flooded, had to wade through the waters to reach the other side to continue the journey to Alice Springs. She was 8-months pregnant at the time.’

[Photo 2: Community enjoying the Finke in flood © C.D. Trudinger circa 1955]

‘Hard to imagine the creek flooding,’ Hubby glanced at the dip, a dry riverbed, that signalled the up-coming fork in the road leading the Hermannsburg. ‘But I know from camping in the Flinders Ranges, at the first drops of rain, you don’t hang around, you get out.’

‘Your mum and friend didn’t when they camped at Parachilna,’ I said. ‘They were stuck there on an island with the river all around them for days.’

‘I know, my mum’s friend liked to take risks.’

[Photo 3: K-Team in Parachilna Gorge when not in flood, but very windy © L.M. Kling 2000]

A sign with an image of a cow, and below written, “Beware of wandering stock”, flashed by. Brumbies galloped on the side, as if racing with us. Hawks soared in the cobalt blue sky above. A lone wedge-tail eagle, having gorged on a carcass of roadkill, waddled off the road just in time, avoiding the same fate as its feed.

[Photo 4: Brumbies rounded up in times past, Hermannsburg stock yards © C.D. Trudinger circa 1955]

This time, when we arrived in Hermannsburg, we made a beeline for the FRM store where we located our friend, P. He welcomed us and gave us a tour of the store. So much bigger than in 1981; more like the size of our local IGA store in size and shelves fully stocked. It even stocked fridges and washing machines. P proudly showed us the bakery where fresh bread is made each day and he introduced us to the Indigenous workers at the store.

[Photo 5: In front of the store © L.M. Kling 2013]

After settling into our P and K’s home, we spent the afternoon drinking coffee and storytelling with P and K. Storytelling continued over dinner. Much had changed since the T-team visited in 1981. The population of Hermannsburg has now grown to 600, the Finke River Mission still exists there, and the Christian community is growing. However, there remain challenges for the Indigenous community as there are in communities all over Australia, and the world. ‘It just is,’ as P stated, ‘we’re at the coal-face, being a small, isolated outback community; you see everything…’

[Photo 6: Memories of times past celebrating Kuprilya Day © C.D. Trudinger circa 1955]

‘Whereas,’ I concluded, ‘in the city it’s hidden by numbers, a larger population and behind the walls of our castles.’ Then I changed the subject. ‘Oh, by the way, this is the house I stayed in when the T-team visited Hermannsburg in 1981.’

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2021

Feature Photo: Hermannsburg way back when, enjoying a game of friendly footy © C.D. Trudinger circa 1955

***

Virtual Travel Opportunity

For the price of a cup of coffee (takeaway, these days),

Click on the link and download your kindle copy of my travel memoirs,

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari.

Friday Postcards and a bit of Family History–Basel

Postcards: Basel, Switzerland

[This postcard of the Basel Minster (German: Basler Münster) was delivered to its recipient in 1899. Theodora Bellan, the recipient was the house maid of my Great-grandmother (Sophie Basedow nee Hiller). Imagine! Those were the days when ancestors had house maids. My grandfather (Sam Gross) who was my Great-grandma’s son-in-law, collected postcards and so, ended up with this one. I wonder if he considered, back then, 80 to 90 years ago, that, one of his descendants (me) with the K-Team would visit the birthplace of my husband’s mother? Would he have envisaged the changes to this city and the challenges the K-Team faced visiting this city of Switzerland?

I might add here, that as far as my family history goes, I have several and varied connections with Basel. A branch of my Trudinger relatives lived and worked in Basel; they owned a successful ribbon factory at the turn of the twentieth century. All went flat (pardon the pun, but my dad loved puns) with the stock market crash in 1929 and the subsequent depression. Still, I believe some relatives of mine may still live in Basel, even today. And on my mother’s side, my two-times Great Grandfather (Charles George Hiller) and my Great grandfather (Emil Basedow) studied for the ministry in Basel. No wonder, when I visited Basel, especially the Altstadt, I felt a connection to the place and it seemed so familiar to me.]

K-Team Adventures in Basel — August 2014

Not so early, for once, on this Saturday morning, P1, Granny K, Hubby and I headed for Basel. We regretted not rising early. Near Zurich, cars on the autobahn came to a virtual standstill and continued that way till Basel.

[Photo 1: First impressions of Basel; Münster Fahre © L.M. Kling 1998]

Having taken twice as long to get to Basel and then taking time to squeeze into a very narrow car park in the middle of the city, once released from the confines of the car, Granny went in search of toilet facilities. She found a toilet close by only to discover they took her Swiss Franc and failed to deliver relief as she couldn’t open the door. We hunted down the street in search of a toilet. Migros would surely facilitate the desperate. No, only if you patronise the establishment do you get the code to get into the room of relief. The Rathaus? No, joy there—closed for business. Ah, MacDonald’s! Off Granny and I ran. By this time, I was becoming a tad desperate for a wee break. I had a plan. Buy McChips and a McWrap and get the Mac-code and we’re in business. Had to line up, though. The men waited outside. We waited. They waited. Finally! Service and the sacred code of the Holy Mac-Grail, the toilet.

[Photo 2: The Rathaus closed for a meeting © L.M. Kling 2014]

When we eventually emerged, much relieved, Hubby said, ‘You took your time. We’ve been waiting 25 minutes.’

‘It’s not like Basel’s flush with them,’ I replied.

‘I guess that’s why I haven’t seen many people walking around with bottles of water,’ Hubby muttered.

[Photo 3: The crowds through the Rathaus Gate © L.M. Kling 2014]

We fought our way through the Saturday shoppers and holiday crowd over the bridge and to the Kleine Alstadt to find a bench to sit and eat our lunch. Ironically, free benches were the Holy Grail there, but toilets, now we didn’t need one, were in abundance, including open air urinals! Granny was horrified. What has her Basel come to?

We did find ratty old seats near a playground and youth nearby with a stereo booming out Spanish hip hop! Oh, well, it was a seat and I enjoyed watching the people and the happy ambience of the sunny Saturday afternoon.

Photo 4: Altstadt (old town) © L.M. Kling 2014]

But P1 slouched in his seat and pouted.

‘What’s wrong?’ Granny asked.

‘We haven’t seen anything,’ P1 mumbled. He meant missing seeing the Matterhorn, thanks to the “Matterhorn Rebellion”. But that’s another story you can read …

However soon enough we did see some sights. We saw the outside of the Rathaus with its mural artworks—the inside still closed for a meeting! Approaching the cathedral known as the Basel Minster, I exclaimed, ‘Ah, I’ve been wanting to see inside this cathedral with the tapestry roof for ages. Last time when we were here in 1998, we didn’t have time to look inside.’

[Photo 5: Basel Minster © L.M. Kling 1998]

‘It was Sunday, then and the Cathedral was closed for a service,’ Hubby said.

‘Oh.’

We entered the Basel Minster and marvelled at the simple beauty of the sanctuary. A service was starting in half an hour, so we had to be silent and not take photos.

[Photo 6: Inside the Minster’s sanctuary © L.M. Kling 2014]

After a while, Hubby found me and asked, ‘Have you seen P1?’

‘No.’

Granny came up to us. ‘Have you seen P1?’

‘No, he must’ve climbed the tower,’ I said.

Hubby texted P1 and he replied he’d been asked to leave as a service was about to take place. It just hasn’t been P1’s day.

[Photo 7: The Cloisters—Basel Minster © L.M. Kling 2014]

After meeting P1 in the square, we walked through the cloisters next door to the Basel Minster and then marvelled at the vista of the Rhine, the city and the mountains in the distance. Hubby pointed out the Blauen Hoch, the mountain we’d climbed while in Badenweiler.

[Photo 8: Rhine vista © L.M. Kling 2014]
[Photo 9: Blauen Hoch in distance © L.M. Kling 2014]

On our way back to the car, we walked through the Altstadt to the Kunst (Art) Museum. Too late by this time to explore but Hubby and I hoped we could return next weekend to see the museum. Never happened…Next time??? 2025, and still waiting …

[Photo 10: Hubby and the Rodin sculpture in courtyard of Kunst Museum, Basel © L.M. Kling 2014]

And finally, Granny asked Hubby to drive past the church where she was baptised. Unfortunately, it was only a drive-by, more road works and nowhere to park. At least the church bells started ringing as we crawled past to the delight of Granny.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2014; updated 2020; 2024; 2025

Feature photo: Postcard of Basel Minster Front (above) and Back (below) © 1899

***

And now, for something different…from Europe…

Dreaming of an Aussie Outback Adventure?

Click the links below:

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981,

To download your Amazon Kindle copy of the story…

And escape in time and space to the Centre of Australia 1981…

Story Behind the Painting–Mangaruka

**Feature Painting: Ghost Gum, Western MacDonnell’s © L.M. Kling 2017

Story Behind the Painting: Ghost Gum, Western MacDonnell Ranges

[Extract from The T-Team with Mr B: Central Australia 1977, a prequel to Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981.

The T-Team with Mr B — In 1977 Dad’s friend Mr Banks and his son, Matt (not their real names), joined Dad, my brother (Rick) and me on this journey of adventure. I guess Dad had some reservations how I would cope… But it soon became clear that the question was, how would Mr. B who was used to a life of luxury cope? And how would the T-Team cope with him?]

Secret Men’s Business

Mangaruka

Dad scraped up the last few oats at the bottom of his metal bowl and then said, ‘I’ve asked our guides to take us to a place which is very special to them.’

‘What? The Gosse Range?’ I piped up. ‘Are we going to that meteorite site?’

**[Photo 1: Gosse Range © S.O. Gross circa 1946]

‘Better, than that.’ Dad’s mouth did his signature cat-with-bird-in-the-mouth expression. Then he explained that after discussion with our Indigenous guides, they had agreed to take the scenic route via Mangaruka Gorge; the entry to a sacred site. While Mr. B groaned at the prospect of hiking up yet another gorge, my father allayed his friend’s concerns by saying that we would only travel to the gorge’s entrance, and if we had time, just explore the beginnings of it.

Mr. B grumbled, ‘But we don’t want to be searching for a camp near Talipata in the dark.’

**[Photo 2: Talipata at sunset © C.D. Trudinger circa 1955]

‘Don’t worry,’ Dad patted Mr. B on his rounded shoulder, ‘Talipata is not far from there. Besides, the cliffs of Mangaruka at sunset are stunning, especially with the ghost gums set against them.’

**[Photo 3: Ghost Gums near sunset at Mangaruka © S.O. Gross circa 1946]

I remembered the exact image Dad was dreaming about. On lazy afternoons at my Grandma’s home, I used to rummage through photos and slides from her family’s time in Central Australia. My grandfather was, in my opinion, an amazing photographer. In one corner of Grandma’s bookshelf in the back room, rested a pile photo prints that were kept in pristine condition encased in special cardboard like a card; the best of Grandpa’s work. One scene that I have painted was a ghost gum, it’s white trunk against the deep purple cliffs of Mangaruka Gorge. Another slide that impressed me was the same scene with the ghost gum at sunset. No wonder Dad wanted to stop there on our way to Talipata.

**[Painting: Ghost gum, Western MacDonnell’s © L.M. Kling circa 2017]

After having breakfast, we packed up and drove out into the wild west. The dirt road exemplified that rugged feel.

At Haasts Bluff station we filled up with petrol, water, and supplies to last us in this virgin land. We were going where not many people, except the Indigenous, had gone before. Upon entering the land belonging to these people; there would be no shops, no houses, and no roads. To salute our departure from civilisation, we bought something to eat and drink. I ate a meat pie.

**[Photo 4: The road out West and Haast Bluff © C.D. Trudinger 1977]

Our guides directed us off the narrow, yet graded road onto an almost invisible track. One sat on the bonnet of the Rover and directed our venture into the desert. We bumped and crawled along faded wheel ruts until a small range emerged through the low dunes and the folds and creases in the flat-topped hill, formed a gorge. We had reached Mungaraka Gorge.

**[Photo 5: Mangaruka Gorge © S.O Gross circa 1946]

Dad slowed the Land Rover, parking it just before some soft sand that threatened to engulf its wheels. The T-Team stepped out of the vehicle to be greeted by a welcoming party of small pesky flies. They were most unwelcome.

Swishing the pests away from his nose, eyes and mouth, Dad said, ‘Mungaraka, I reckon the name of the place has something to do with flies.’

‘Certainly a feature of the place,’ Mr. B sniffed. ‘Oh, darn it! I just got one up my nose.’

Richard, my brother clapped.

Mr. B glared at him.

With eyes wide, Richard looked at Mr. B. He then examined his palms. ‘Twenty.’ He flicked the flattened black flecks from his hands and then clapped again.

Mr. B then turned to his son, Matt. ‘Don’t even think about killing tha flies, ma son. They have germs. You don’t want germs, ma boy.’

‘No, Dad.’ Matt pulled his cap over his eyes, turned away and strolled down the track towards Mangaruka.

**[Photo 6: Closer view of Mangaruka Gorge with ghost gums © C.D. Trudinger 1977]

Dad, who had been laying out a spread of food on the tarpaulin, stopped preparations and ran after the boy. ‘Hoy! Matt! Wait! Lunch first, then the gorge.’

Richard laughed. ‘And for extra protein—flies.’

Lunch became a battle of hasty bites of cheese and gherkin sandwiches while trying to avoid the added bits of protein of flies that were only too willing to add flavour to our meal. After, we sipped our billy tea probably flavoured with the odd thirsty fly.

**[Photo 7: Ghost gum of Mangaruka © C.D. Trudinger 1977]

Our guides sat apart from us, and, unperturbed by our uninvited swarm of guests, they ate their bread and murmured quietly to each other. Dad perched on the tucker box and watched them.

I gulped down my last drop of tea. ‘Well, aren’t we going to explore the gorge?’

Dad stood up. ‘Right, let’s go.’

‘What about our guides?’ I asked.

‘Oh, they won’t be going. Mangaruka’s sacred to the Arunda, so they won’t go near it.’

‘What? Are they afraid of the place, Dad?’

‘It’s more complicated than that. They keep sacred stones called “Tjuringa” there in a cave. And they are afraid of spirits there.’

‘Can we go there?’

‘Sorry, Lee-Anne, girls are not allowed. Nor us. Not them. Only the elders. So, we’ll only go to the entrance of the gorge.’

**[Photo 8: Entrance to the gorge © C.D. Trudinger 1977]

Mangaruka held no ghost for us, only flies. Dad, Mr. B and Matt, and I walked up to the entrance of the gorge. Richard stayed behind to keep our two guides company. On the rocky slopes in the gorge, a smooth brown and white stone caught my eye.

**[Photo 9: No ghosts as far as we could see © C.D. Trudinger 1977]

I picked it up and ran my finger over it. I showed Dad. ‘Hey, Dad, it feels like plastic.’

Dad screwed up his nose and shifted his feet. ‘I think we better go back now.’

‘Oh, but …’

‘I’m not sure we should go much further,’ Dad said with an edge to his tone.

**[Photo 10: No Women and Children beyond this point. Sunset on Mangaruka. © S.O. Gross 1946]

‘Girls not allowed,’ Mr. B added, and then called out to Matt who had scampered further up the gorge. ‘Come on son, time to go back.’

On our return, I tried to take a photo of us all in front of this gorge, but our aboriginal companions refused. In the end, Dad took a photo of me in front of Mungaraka. Dad would have like to stay longer to wait for the rocks to turn red, but we had to move on.

**[Photo 11: Mangaruka and me © C.D. Trudinger 1977]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2019

***

Dreaming of an Aussie Outback Adventure?

Click the link below:

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981,

To download your Amazon Kindle copy of the story …

And escape in time and space to the Centre of Australia 1981 …

Backyard Arty Tales

Furry Feline Tales

Cat Fight Over Storm

Last Sunday, it happened again! I went down to Brighton Central to help set up for our Marion Art Group exhibition. When I came home, Hubby met me at the front door.

‘You left the laundry door open,’ he said.

‘Oh, no! Is Lily okay?’ my only thoughts were for our new cat Lily. Had she escaped and run off never to be seen again?

‘Come and have a look,’ Hubby said.

As we crept up the passageway, Hubby added, ‘Lily’s locked inside.’

Still baffled, I followed him to the family room.

Hubby pointed. ‘What can you see?’

Tufts of fur littered the floor.

‘Gracie came in through the open laundry door and had a fight with Lily,’ Hubby explained. ‘She’s currently under our bed. I had to pick Lily up and remove her from guarding Gracie.’

I examined the mass of fur. ‘From the looks of it, Lily won.’

We eventually extracted Gracie from under our bed, and she returned to her owners next door. Sheepishly. Reluctantly.

I think she secretly enjoyed her tussle with Lily.

All the while, our elderly gent cat Storm kept out of it and watched from the safety of the couch.

[Photo 1a: Window contenders © L.M. Kling 2025]

Here’s an earlier story of one fine autumn morning, a long time ago.

Chaos in Cat-Central

I gazed out the kitchen window one Saturday morning. The sun shone on every blade of the many weeds in our garden, and the neighbour’s cat sat on our discarded toilet near the back fence. I had the beginnings of a nasturtium garden in those old toilets. Can’t have the cat digging up my seeds.

[Photo 1: Our Toilet Garden © L.M. Kling 2017]

I strode outside and the cat scampered off in a flash of black and white.

‘The neighbour’s cat tried to use my toilet garden as a toilet,’ I told my son as he lazed in bed, sleeping in.

‘Ugh!’ he mumbled and then rolled over.

***

We planned to have a family gathering in the evening, so after washing the floors, I left the back door open and settled down to paint.

As I nestled down in the deck chair on the back patio, I heard a growl. Then another growl in reply.

[Photo 2: Outback Storm Brewing (in the MAG exhibition at Brighton Central) © L.M. Kling 2025]

‘What’s that about?’ I muttered and went inside to investigate.

Holly, our tabby, crouched in a tense ball in the passage facing the bathroom entrance. In the freshly cleaned bathroom, Holly’s nemesis, the black and white cat (BW) snarled at her.

Holly’s puffed-up tail twitched, and she hissed at her enemy.

BW emitted a low, menacing growl.

The pussies peered at each other, a slow, silent, Mexican stand-off of the feline kind.

[Photo 3: Mexican stand-off of sorts and of a more recent kind © L.M. Kling 2020]

I nudged my foot at the interloper. She launched at it, claws dragging through my ankle’s exposed skin.

Holly screamed like a banshee and pounced on BW. Fused in a ball of fury, the cats rolled around the tiles, tufts of fur flying out, littering our floor.

My son joined the human audience of the furious feline fight.

I glanced in his room.

Storm, our black cat, shuddered on top of the bunk, his green eyes glowing from his dark face. No way was he going to join in the fray.

[Photo 4: Storm was always scared; he used to take anti-anxiety tablets to keep him calm © L.M. Kling 2016]

I ran to the kitchen and grabbed a broom. While the cats thrashed about, I closed all the doors, except the one leading to the outside through the laundry. Then I poked the broom at the feral ball of furs. The cats flew apart. BW attacked the broom. I shook her off, and she glared at the brush-end, hissing and spitting at it. I pushed the broom at her. She scratched it. Then sped into the bathroom.

I yelled to my son, ‘Get another broom.’

He stared at the black and white intruder that hissed and spat. ‘Where?’

I moved Holly out into the family room and then grabbed the Swish broom from the laundry. I gave it to my son.

As mother and son, we, both armed with brooms, guided BW as if shuttling a hockey puck. We nudged the wild ball, shunting her through the passage, through the laundry, and then out the back door.

The cat bolted down the path and scrambled over the fence.

[Photo 5: The veggie patch near the back door with “pumpkin tree” © L.M. Kling 2017]

I slammed the door shut and, with a sigh, began sweeping up the aftermath of fur bits from the bathroom. I picked up shards of cat claw, another casualty of the clash of cats.

‘Hey, look, cat claws,’ I said.

‘That cat was feral,’ my son replied.

I swept my eyes over the bathroom and noticed chocolaty nuggets in the corner. I took a closer look.

[Photo 6: Holly in calmer times © L.M. Kling 2007]

‘Oh, no! Cat poo!’ I cried and then collected the poo scoop. I shovelled up the mess. As I scanned the bathroom, I discovered more souvenirs of the feline fight.

‘Oh, Holly, did you have to?’ I said to Holly, who crouched in the corner of the family room.

‘Don’t blame Holly,’ my son said. ‘It had to be the neighbour’s cat, didn’t you say that cat was on the toilet in our garden and you chased her away? It’s that cat’s revenge.’

***

I later heard from a neighbour, that a huge cat, a Jabber-the-Hut of a cat, ruled the neighbourhood with his paw of iron claws. It is for this reason, cats migrated to our backyard. Our land was a haven to them.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2016; updated 2020; 2025

Feature Photo: Schrodinger’s Cat © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2024

***

If you’re in Adelaide, check out our Marion Art Group exhibition in the mall at Brighton Central Shopping Centre (Corner of Edwards Street and Brighton Road, Brighton). Displaying wonderful and affordable paintings you can buy and take home—a great idea as Christmas presents. On until Saturday, October 25.

My Schrodinger’s Cat pastel painting inspired by the photo is there too.

***

Want more? Dreaming of travel down under?

Why not take a virtual journey with the T-Team Adventures in Australia?

Click here on the links:

The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981…

And escape in time and space to Central Australia …