Second Friday Crime–Under the Bridge (11)

June 28, 2024 / lmkling / Leave a comment

I Know Nothink

Thursday, March 3, 2022, 2pm

Brighton

Dan

Dan perched on the vintage two-seater 1960’s occasional armchair. He admired its upholstery, a stunning turquoise woven velvet. Francis Renard sat opposite in a matching single armchair.

‘You can’t get too comfortable in these chairs,’ Renard leaned back and crossed his long legs, ‘or get too heavy.’ Renard chuckled. ‘We once had a colleague of El’s here. Walt Wilberforce, chaplain from Yatala, actually. On the big side. Sat where you’re sitting. Chair had to go in for repairs after. There’s a good repairer down on the Broadway. Took ages to get it back.’ Renard laughed and fidgeted. ‘Guess these chairs keep us honest as far as weight and fitness goes.’

*[Photo 1: 1960’s Occasional Lounge Chairs © L.M. Kling 2017]

Dan stroked his chin. Hmmm, honest. Let’s see how honest Renard will be. He sighed wishing Eloise Delaney could be a part of the interview as she was so astute in reading people. However, he knew that El being there would ruin the interview. Being a close family member to Renard. Wife, actually.

‘So, Francis,’ Dan said, ‘can I call you Francis?’

Renard nodded. ‘What’s this about, Sir?’

‘We are looking into an incident that happened in November 1980. Saturday night November 29 to be precise. Do you remember that day?’

‘That’s over 40 years ago.’ Renard shrugged. ‘To tell you the truth, I can’t remember what I had for breakfast.’

‘You remembered Walt Wilberforce.’

‘He-he, lucky guess, oh and association with the chairs.’ Renard rubbed his ear and his face flushed a bright pink making his bald patch more prominent. ‘So long ago, I have no idea what I’m supposed to remember.’

‘Okay, let’s start with some basics, then,’ Dan leaned forward. ‘What make and model car were you driving at the time?’

‘Ah, that brings back memories.’ A wide smile spread across Francis Renard’s face. ‘A red and white 1967 Kombi.’

*[Painting 1: One red and white Kombi © L.M. Kling 2015]

‘Good memories?’

‘Yeah, had some good times in that van.’

‘I bet you did.’ Dan scribbled 1967 Kombi on his notepad, then pulled out his mobile phone. ‘Do you give your consent for me to record this interview?’

Renard gestured with palms open upwards. ‘Sure, I’ve got nothing to hide.’

‘Right, now, I believe you were friends with Sven von Erickson at the time.’

‘Uh-huh, where this going? I’d rather not be dropping my mate in this, whatever it is.’

‘Alright, I’ll leave Sven out of this for now.’ Dan shifted his weight on the spongy cushions of the occasional lounge chair. They certainly didn’t allow one to get too comfortable. ‘Okay, what were you doing, I mean for employment, in 1980?’

‘I was a panel beater come mechanic, back in the day. Gap year, I mean, ended up being several years. I was still growing up, you could say. After dropping out of engineering in 1979, I went back to university as a mature-aged student to study Physics. Never looked back. That’s how I met Sven, actually.’

‘What was the name of your boss at the time?’

‘My boss? Hmm, some German, I remember. A perfectionist. Hard, really hard on me. Nothing I did was good enough.’ Renard scratched his chin. ‘But his name? It’s so long ago, I can’t remember.’

Dan placed a laminated photo of a red 1976 Ford Falcon XB on the glass coffee table that divided them. ‘Does this jog any memories?’

*[Photo 2: My Ford Falcon XB, yellow, but © A.N. Kling 1986]

Renard jerked back and folded his arms. ‘Is that supposed to mean something?’

‘You tell me.’

‘Look mate, I worked on tonnes of cars. They came in, I fixed them up, they went out. Well, eventually, once the old boss…’ Renard sniggered, ‘can’t remember his real name, but we lads who worked at his shop, called him the Car-Nazi. Anyway, once Car-Nazi said it was good enough. Which, it never was, by the way. Oh, what a cruddy job. One of the reasons I went back to uni. And the pay was peanuts. You see, I wanted to have a gap year or two, to work, save up some dough and travel. You know, go overseas. See the world. But, never had enough, and the old Kombi was a money pit. Mon Dieu, talk about endless repairs.’

And, without Dan uttering another word or question, Francis Renard was off, back in the world of the 1980’s. For a start, the Detective Inspector was pleased that he’d successfully tapped into Renard’s memory files. That is, until he began wandering off track on his trek around Australia and sighting a fleet of UFOs on the Nullarbor Plain.

‘Did you see the news reports?’ Renard asked. ‘I was famous.’

Dan attempted to steer Renard back to November 29, 1980, only to be carjacked by a psychotic hitch hiker in 1984 when Renard and his friends took a road trip to the Flinders Ranges. He was glad to get rid of the van, then. The hitch hiker who stole it, had done him a favour.

*[Photo 3: Iconic Flinders Ranges © L.M. Kling 2023]

Dan again attempted to guide the conversation back to November 1980 asking what make and model cars his friends were driving. To this Renard said he couldn’t remember. So long ago.

The front door clicked and clacked. Footsteps on the floorboards.

Dan and Renard glanced at the lounge room entrance.

‘Hi there,’ Eloise strode through. She looked from Dan to Renard. ‘What’s all this about then?’

‘We have a visitor,’ Renard replied.

‘I can see that,’ Eloise said.

‘Just an informal chat,’ Dan added. ‘Francis has been telling me all about his adventures with UFOs and hitch hikers.’

Eloise looked away and muttered, ‘Can’t help himself.’

Renard looked at his wife and said, ‘Dan was just asking about Saturday night, November 29, 1980, my dear. Do you remember anything?’

‘I was too young, and still in Switzerland, I think,’ Eloise replied. ‘But thinking about that date, and the age of your daughter, I would say that it might be a significant date.’ She faced Dan and explained the recent discovery courtesy of a DNA test.

*[Photo 4: Iconic Switzerland with cow © L.M. Kling 2014]

‘How so?’ Renard asked.

Dan flushed, his face the colour of beetroot, and he chuckled. ‘I guess you got some value out of that old van of yours Francis.’ He glanced at his phone on the coffee table and realised the recording app was still activated.

Renard cleared his throat. ‘Oh, yeah, now, who was I with?’

‘Her DNA results will clear up that mystery,’ Dan said and then rose. He made the assumption that Renard would have been occupied with conceiving his daughter and thus not focussed on the fate of Milo Katz. No use continuing the interview now, he thought, and decided that if he needed more information from Renard, he’d make another time to see him on his own. He picked up his phone, with his notebook, tucked them into his pocket. ‘I better get going.’

Eloise walked him down the hallway. ‘How’s things?’ she asked.

‘Could be better,’ Dan said.

Over the next half hour, on the front porch, view of the gulf on a gentle autumn day, blue water and white sail boats bobbing, he proceeded to tell Eloise about the dramas in his life. His son wanting to move back to Europe to be with his ex. Mooch, actually. They’re in Lausanne, Switzerland. Whatever for, he has no idea. And his relationship with Jemima is under pressure. She’s all fired up about politics and a particular protest movement. Disruptions going on left, right and centre. And he must help police those from time to time and there’s Jemima on the other side. So awkward. What is he to do?

Plus, to make matters worse, he’s been partnered up with Dee Berry. Remember her? Such a difficult personality. And they have history going back to the ‘70’s. History he’d rather forget. Old flame, you see.

[Photo 5: Brighton Beach © M.E. Trudinger 2010]

In the pause while Dan reflects on his lot in life, Eloise asked, ‘Say, Dan, there’s this cold case I’d like to look into, if that’s at all possible. Would you be able to lay your hands on the Percy Edwards files? He went missing back in 1978. And could you possibly pass them in my direction?’

Dan locked eyes with Eloise. ‘Delaney, you know I can’t do that.’

‘But…Also, I think there’s more to the disappearance of Lillie and Sven’s father, Jan von Erikson. And I have this feeling in my gut that Mr. Edwards who disappeared a year later, has something to do with it.’

Dan puffed. ‘You and your gut, El, one day, I believe it will be the end of me.’

‘You will?’

‘I’ll have a poke around.’ Dan shook his head. ‘Can’t promise anything.’

As Dan climbed into his Government issue 2022 Toyota Corolla Hybrid, he remembered that his mobile phone recording app was still running. A colourful word escaped his mouth before he muttered that he must delete the last thirty-minutes of recording. When he gets home and works out how to do such things.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2024

*Feature Photo: Seagulls Brighton Beach © L.M. Kling 2010

***

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Family History Friday–Family Mythology

June 21, 2024 / lmkling / 2 Comments

The Deep Fake of Family “Myth-ory”

Gaslighting—it’s something we believe is a modern practice, AI generated. But, in truth, fudging the truth is as old as history itself.

You could say that creating one’s own reality is a global pastime and no one is immune to it. As humans, we interpret, or mis-interpret the world around us through our experiences, what we see, hear, taste and touch. We use our worldviews to form our identity and place in the world and to serve as a personal force-field to protect our beliefs. Our personal paradigm helps us navigate our way through life, predicting the challenges life may throw at us.

It is fair to say that our worldviews are limited, and often skewed as we encounter the worlds of others. Naturally, we believe our truth is the one and only way. To feel secure, we impose our version of reality on others. We are right. They are wrong.

People I know repeat their version of truth and make it their mission to convince others. One relative is convinced that I had the worst time while travelling in Europe in 2014. Every opportunity they will preach their story of my perceived misery to all glory and sundry, including my mother. They are of the belief that if you repeat a lie often enough, people will believe it. Don’t believe them. I had a wonderful time in Europe, beautiful memories, and one day we hope to travel there again. Or have I been deluded by my own interpretation of reality? Hmmm. I did miss the Matterhorn…and the Basel Kunst Museum…No, I will have to agree to disagree with that relative, I did enjoy Europe.

*[Photo 1: Sculpture in courtyard of Basel Kunst Museum © L.M. Kling 2014]

Anyway, the same can be said for our own personal family history. I remember reading an article in a Genealogy magazine about family myths and to be wary of them. It’s not enough to believe a story, a narrative. Good research requires facts, preferably primary resources.

With this in mind, I have been researching on the internet, the history of Nördlingen and the Kaiser Hof Hotel Sönne. Did my Trüdinger ancestors own it for two hundred years, as my relatives have been led to believe? It wasn’t our branch as my great-grandfather Karl August Trüdinger and family emigrated from Bavaria to England in the 1860’s, and then from England to Australia in 1886. He was a textile merchant trading in wool in Yorkshire England and then in Australia he set up a business selling textiles in Adelaide city. Now, here again, the details get a bit murky, and I need to do some more research into the actual work history of Karl August in Adelaide. Suffice to say, from my gleaning of Trove, Karl August was a fine Christian family man who together with his wife Clara Theresa, raised eight of his twelve surviving children to enter the mission field. Vastly different from the family origins in Nördlingen who were apparently rich and influential enough to own the hotel that entertained royalty.

*[Photo 2: Trudinger Family in Adelaide, South Australia courtesy L.M. Kling circa 1890]*

Yet, as I delved deeper into the rabbit-hole of internet searches, I discovered that my four-times great grandfather, Balthas Trüdinger was a soldier in the Teutonic order. Why else was he living in Lierheim (a castle near Nördlingen) which at the time was owned by the Teutonic order. Oh, the shame that this brought on the family, having a mercenary soldier in their ranks! Another myth. Sure, Balthas was a soldier. Sure, as a soldier in the Teutonic Order he was paid. But was the Teutonic Order so bad?
When I first mentioned the fact of Balthas belonging to the Teutonic Order, my son and husband joked that he was most certainly a neo-Nazi of his time. I began to imagine Balthas all buff, shaved head and going around on crusades killing anyone who wasn’t Christian. According to my research, Wikipedia, mainly, Hitler portrayed the Teutonic Order as the exemplar of the Aryan race and cause.
Again, this was a myth. As soon as Hitler’s achieved his purpose using them, he then turned against them and discarded the Teutonic Order.

*[Photo 3: Reminders of war, Dinkelsbuhl © L.M. Kling 2014]

According to my limited research, although the Teutonic Order went on Crusades to Christianise Europe, and paid mercenaries to fight, they also did a great deal of good. Way back when they formed in 1191, they protected travellers making their pilgrimage to the Holy Land. They organised and built hospitals, initially for wounded soldiers and these days the order is primarily a charitable organisation.
Anyway, it would seem from the records compiled from my uncle Ron Trudinger, that Balthas didn’t stay in Lierheim, but, after the birth of his son Georg, he moved to Nördlingen. Here, no mention of Georg being an innkeeper, but instead a linen weaver and Burgermeister of the town.

From a research paper on Nördlingen in the 17th Century called Early Capitalism and its Enemies: The Wörner Family and the Weavers of Nördlingen* (Published online by Cambridge University Press: 11 June 2012) which I accessed online through Jastor, I was able to surmise that for Georg to become the Mayor of Nördlingen, he would’ve needed to be seriously cashed up. I mean rich, one of the wealthiest in the town, if not, the wealthiest. It would seem he landed on his feet so to speak as a linen weaver or had come into a sizable inheritance. Or, had he or his father married into money in the town? The owner of the hotel, perhaps?

*[Photo 4: Unbroken Wall of Nördlingen © L.M. Kling 2014]

Nowhere in my gleanings on the town do I see that he was the innkeeper or owner of Kaiser Hof Hotel Sonne. The above-mentioned article had a breakdown of income, which I presume was yearly, of people in the town. According to a study accessed online called “Nordlingen, 1580-1700: society, government and impact of war”, in 1700, the owner of the Kaiser Hof Hotel Sonne had the highest income of all, a salary of 41 Florin. A teacher at the time received one to four Florin per year. And a soldier, which is what Georg’s father, Balthas was, received eleven Florin per year.

*[Photo 5: Red rooves of Nördlingen made famous by the movie “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory” © L.M. Kling 2014]*

Again, as far as the Trüdinger family is concerned, it’s all conjecture and where myths start to grow and take a life of their own.

One thing for certain, though, is that in family history, experiences that family members have had hold weight for evidence. After all, they are the life-experience of that person and from their point of view. My second cousin, who married a German, and lived in Bavaria, decided to visit the Kaiser Hof Hotel Sonne in the 1960s. Family there living in Germany, informed her that a Trüdinger relative owned the hotel. Upon seeing the hotel, my second cousin was impressed by how high-class it was with fancy décor and loads of antique furniture. The food offered was out of her budget, but my second cousin tried to talk to her hotel-owning relative.

The encounter didn’t progress the way my cousin had hoped. Although my second cousin could speak fluent German, the hotel owner seemed distant and appeared reluctant to engage with her. Maybe, the lady was having a difficult day…Or hadn’t been given enough warning that a cousin was going to visit the hotel unannounced.

My second cousin left the establishment and decided to eat elsewhere.

*[Photo 6: Our experience dining at Kaiser Hof Hotel Sonne, Nördlingen © A.N. Kling 2014]

When we visited my second cousin in Germany, she told me this story and mentioned that by the end of the 1960’s the Trüdinger relatives had sold the hotel. She believed that the hotel had been in the family for 200 years.

I am still trying to figure out if this a fact, or if it is a myth.

Do you or someone you know have information on the history of the Kaiser Hof Hotel Sonne Nördlingen? Are you related to the Trüdinger family? You are most welcome to leave a comment. Or you may contact me through the My Heritage Trudinger-Kling website.

References
Teutonic Order – Wikipedia
Nördlingen, 1580-1700: society, government and impact of war

***

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Second Friday Crime–Under the Bridge (9)

May 31, 2024May 31, 2024 / lmkling / Leave a comment

[There’s a story behind the feature photo. I caught this one on my way home the other night. The sky was ablaze with golds and reds reflected on the clouds. So I made a beeline down to Brighton Beach and after finding a carpark, snapped several shots on my trusty phone.

Next to me, an excited boy about eight, asked his mum, ‘Is that the Northern Lights?’

I chuckled to myself and proceeded to film the serene sea view. Even caught some dolphins gliding through the water.

Beautiful! So beautiful!

Today, we have rain.

*In this Episode of Under the Bridge,
the proverbial can of worms has unwittingly been opened…]

You Have a Match!

Monday, February 7, 2022, 6pm

Brighton

Eloise

Eloise entered her Brighton home on the Esplanade greeted by the cooling balm of a sea breeze and spicy aroma of stir fry. A balding man in his mid-60’s, wearing a chef’s black apron over his white t-shirt and blue jeans, busied himself preparing dinner.

‘Hey, there, Francis love,’ Eloise hugged him and then scanned the oil-splattered tiles and the bench covered in an assortment of sauce spills. ‘Mmm, smells delicious,’ she said before noticing three places set at the table. ‘Visitors?’

‘Ah, yes, just the usual; my mate Sven,’ Francis replied before using the spatula to push around the fried rice in the wok.

Eloise spied an opened bottle of Clare Valley Shiraz. ‘What’s the special occasion at Chateau Renard?’

Francis grinned. ‘You’ll see.’

Eloise studied the dining room and table for clues. Next to her husband’s usual place at the table rested his Surface Pro laptop. She thinned her lips. ‘I hope you’re not going to watch sport while we…’ She hated the way that even in the slate-black surface of the laptop, she detected in her reflection, the signs of crow’s feet spreading out from her wide blue eyes and a stray grey hair escaping from her honey-blonde ponytail.

‘Can’t help yourself.’ Francis laughed. ‘Always snooping.’

‘Old habits die hard. You know how curious I am.’

‘Well, dear, you’ll just have to wait.’

‘I could just read your mind, love.’

‘What? And spoil the surprise?’

A rap at the door.

‘Come in, if you’re decent,’ Eloise yelled.

A tall, bronzed man with bleached hair padded up the hallway to the kitchen-dining area. He placed the bottle of sparkling wine on the table before straightening his pastel green polo shirt over his beige shorts. ‘Hope this is decent enough, Ms Delainey.’ He looked at Eloise, his small Nordic blue eyes crinkled. ‘That is right, isn’t it, now that you have retired?’

Eloise snorted. ‘On leave, but who knows…’

*[Photo 1: Brighton Jetty sunset © L.M. Kling 2020]*

Francis Renard served the steaming plates of stir fry vegetables and wild rice, while Sven filled their wine glasses with the bubbly. Eloise stared at the table display and then looked at the men looking as if their mouths were filled with a canary or two. She resisted the urge to whip out the phone camera and take a photo.

‘So, what’s the occasion?’ Eloise asked.

‘What? You mean you haven’t guessed?’ Francis said.

‘Oh, Eloise, have you lost your superpowers?’ Sven joked.

‘He who must be obeyed said I’d spoil the surprise.’ Eloise said and then took a casual sip of sparkling. ‘Besides, there’ll be a war starting. March.’

‘Oh, it’s prophecy now,’ Sven said.

‘Among other gifts.’ Eloise sniffed. ‘I’m restraining myself from reading your grey matter.’

Renard opened his laptop and the screen lit up. ‘And now I’ll read the news that you’ve all been waiting for.’

Eloise and Sven put down their wine glasses and leaned forward.

Francis Renard cleared his throat. ‘I’m a close contact.’

Eloise and Sven sprang back. Eloise covered her mouth. ‘Oh, no! Then why have you…you’re meant to…you’ll get fined fifty-thousand dollars!’

Sven threw back his head and roared with laughter. ‘Priceless!’ he said. ‘Your reaction is priceless!’

‘Bad choice of words, but I’ve been waiting all day,’ Renard said and licked his lips. ‘My ancestry results from the DNA test. You know, the one you gave me for my birthday? They arrived in the email this morning. I have a close relative. A very close…’

‘Your dad? Mum? A sibling you didn’t know about?’ Eloise jumped out of her chair to look over her husband’s shoulder.

‘They say here that,’ Francis pointed at the screen showing a bar chart. ‘I’m a father.’

Eloise folded her arms. ‘I guess that’s always been a possibility.’

Her husband wiped an eye. ‘I don’t know how; the doctors always said I couldn’t…I had the mumps in my twenties. My wife back then and I tried, but then…well…’

‘What about before you were twenty?’ Eloise asked.

‘Possible, but you’d think I’d remember getting a girl pregnant back then.’ Francis Renard wiped his forehead. ‘Geez! That makes the kid over forty. I could be a grandpa.’

Sven’s eyes twinkled. ‘Try great grandpa. That’s what I am. If you include grand puppies.’

‘Is there a contact? A name?’ Eloise asked.

‘Well, yes. But it’s just a name and I don’t know how she fits in, who she’s related to—besides me, that is. I mean, for starters, who’s her mother?’ Francis sighed. ‘I’ve been looking through the list of matches. There are heaps of names. I spent all afternoon. It’s a real rabbit hole. And confusing.’

‘You mean, the physics professor can’t navigate the ancestry website?’ Sven said.

‘Here, let me.’ Eloise hooked the side of the laptop and swung it around to face her. ‘My job was mostly tackling computer stuff. What’s your child’s name? Are they a “he” or a “she” or, “they,” as some are these days? Oh, that’s right, you said, “she”.’

‘Come on, Frank, don’t keep us in suspense,’ Sven said. Then, ‘Hey, I’m hungry. Do you mind if I tuck in?’

‘Go right ahead, I’ll join you while the detective does her magic,’ Renard said and loaded up Sven’s plate with his signature Indonesian stir fry.

‘Well?’ Sven urged.

‘Her name is, according to this match, if she’s used her real name, that’s one thing I’ve found…’ said with a mouthful of rice.

‘Spit it out,’ Sven said.

‘Don’t you dare,’ Eloise snapped. Then quietly, ‘Zoe Thomas. Ta-da!’

Francis finished chewing and swallowed. ‘I was getting to that. But I still want to know who is the mother? Can you tell?’

*[Video Screen Shot: Look for the dolphins–Check out the video on Facebook © L.M. Kling 2024]*

After a few clicks, Eloise peered at the screen. ‘Hooper, how about that, I wonder if they’re related to Dan? Says here they’re a third cousin to you, Francis.’

Sven, his mouth full like a chipmunk, nodded.

Eloise dipped her fork into the rice dish and ate her meal, all the time staring at the screen.

‘But what about Zoe’s mother?’ Francis asked. ‘Any clues?’

‘I can’t tell you that; the results only reveal your DNA. Unless, of course, the mother is related to you somehow.’

‘A possibility in with our cultural and church heritage—everyone’s related,’ Sven said with a chuckle.

‘Not me,’ Francis puffed out his chest and announced, ‘my ancestors are French.’

El fixed her gaze on the computer screen and clicked the mouse. ‘According to your ancestry results, you are eighty percent Western European, ten percent Celtic and five percent Scandinavian.’

‘Okay, okay, there’s a little bit of German and I think my great-grandfather was Scottish, but so what?’ Francis replied.

‘So, back to Zoe Thomas.’ Eloise passed the laptop back to its owner. ‘I’ll let you do the honours of making contact, dear. How exciting! You have a daughter.’

The three raised their glasses and cheered Francis Renard’s success at producing a daughter.

After sipping, Sven placed his glass down. ‘Yes, but, mate. But who is the mother?’

Francis Renard shrugged. ‘Have no idea. Honestly!’

‘Don’t look at me.’ Eloise turned her head and looked behind. ‘My superpowers don’t extend to—what would that be—genealogy?’

Francis and Sven set their focus on her; eyebrows raised.

‘Is there nothing you can’t do?’ Sven said.

‘Or can do to help find out?’ her husband said.

Eloise sighed. ‘I’ll see what I can do. I’ll see what the queen of gossip, Fifi can tell me.’

‘God no! Not Fifi!’ Sven said.

‘Yes, Sven, your ex and I do art together,’ Eloise replied.

Sven rolled his eyes. ‘One of the joys of living in Adelaide, I guess.’

*[Photo 2: We even have local seals, Glenelg South © L.M. Kling 2022]

After dinner, the three sat on the balcony and while enjoying the Shiraz, they watched the sun set over the sea. The discussion centred on what a young female offspring of Renard might look like, what she might do for a profession, where she lived and most frustratingly, who the mother might be.

Social media had drawn a blank. No photos existed of Zoe Thomas. The only information gleaned was from a site used for professionals, “Link In” where a Zoe Thomas was listed as a high-ranking lawyer in Melbourne. She had completed her law degree, though, at the University of Hobart, and had been practising law for over fifteen years, in a well-known and prestigious law firm in Melbourne and rising in esteem to the ranks of barrister.

Then the conversation between Renard and his friend settled on the good old times in the 1980’s before circling back to the identity of Zoe’s mother.

Renard even retrieved his little black book from that time.

‘You’re not going to call all those dames, are you, Frank?’ Sven remarked.

‘Nah, too much water under the bridge.’

‘Not appropriate,’ Eloise added. ‘But, if you give your precious secrets in that little black book to me, perhaps I can check them out on social media.’

‘Nah, not appropriate, Eloise,’ Sven said.

‘I’m not sure about that, either’ Renard said.

‘Yeah, you’re right, most would’ve gotten married and changed their names. And I don’t have access to records. But as I said, I’ll ask around. See what people remember,’ Eloise said, and then added, ‘discretely, of course.’

*[Photo 3 and Feature: Not the Aurora Australis, but a Brilliant Brighton sunset © L.M. Kling 2024]

Francis Renard nodded and gazed at the grey wisps of cloud on the faded pink horizon. Eloise watched him as his eyes seemed to glaze with tears. She knew he’d had so many girls back then.

She gently touched his arm. ‘Are you remembering the days of your youth, love? Your Kombi?’

‘Those were the days.’ Francis sniffed and nodded. ‘I miss my Kombi.’

‘Ah, the good ol’ days.’ Sven sighed. ‘Before we…’

‘Had to grow up,’ El said and softly laughed.

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

*Feature Photo: Not the Aurora Australis, but a brilliant Brighton sunset.

***

Sometimes characters spring from real life,