Around the World

Second Friday Crime–Under the Bridge (10)

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[In this chapter, I just couldn’t resist a visit to the Flinders Ranges by my characters. As this South Australian mountain range is one of my favourite places and art muse, I have interspersed this rather long chapter with some of my paintings.]

PASS THE PEACE

Tuesday March 1, 2022, 9:00pm

Church on Flinders Street

Lillie Remembers

Lillie wasn’t much of a “Fringe” goer, but Jimmy’s band had a gig in town, and she had dutifully gone to support him. Around 9:00pm, the middle-aged couple ambled up (meaning heading east) Flinders Street. Lillie grumbled that they had to park so far away because there were no parks. Jimmy was simply happy that, after a long hiatus, his band could perform again. He had no complaints about parking way up Flinders Street, as it meant people were again out and about and the city was coming alive once more. Lillie stressed that she didn’t like crowds, and her back and feet ached from all the walking.

Jimmy just grinned at her and said, ‘Good exercise, Lillie.’

An unimpressed Lillie grunted in response. Another unwelcome reference to my weight, she thought.

East of the city centre, they passed the church. Men of all shapes, sizes and ages spilled out of the Lutheran church.

Jimmy glanced at the historic structure that glowed in the dark and a wide smile spread across his face. ‘Remember?’

Lillie glanced back at the men gathering in groups of two or three, happily chatting. She frowned. ‘I’d rather forget.’

At that moment, a red classic, and freshly renovated Ford Falcon XB roared past, causing Lillie to remember all the same.

***

[Painting 1: Sunrise on Brachina Gorge, Flinders Ranges © L.M. Kling]

Church on Flinders Street

May 1978

Lillie

The sanctuary of the church appeared crammed full of young people; they squeezed onto benches, pressed up against the walls and almost swung from the rafters. Looking like Moses but dressed in mohair, the minister stood above his congregation who buzzed with enthusiasm and hormones. He raised his hands and lisped, “Pass the Peace.”  The two boys on either side of her, reached across Lillie, as if she didn’t exist, and shook hands. Lillie stared across the crowded hall, the song ‘Some Enchanted Evening’ swimming in her head rather than a chorus from the Green Book. He wasn’t a stranger, not to her.

For Lillie, the popular pastor and his pantomime out of the pulpit, and the crowds caught in his spell, didn’t exist. Only he mattered, on the far side, fourth row from the front, thick black hair tumbling over his strong square jaw, his brown eyes fixed on the pastor. Her heart jumped to life and fluttered against her rib cage. She narrowed her eyes. Who is that girl? That round girl with the big blue eyes? Hate her!

As the pastor droned, could have been “begattings” and “thou shalts and nots” from Deuteronomy for all she cared, Lillie flicked spying glances on him, dagger looks on her beside him.

[Painting 2: Sunlight through a Flinders Creek © L.M. Kling]

Supper: after squeezing though the throng, shaking the pastor’s hand, Lillie entered the side hall. She drew in the instant coffee flavoured aroma and smiled as the clinking of cups greeted her. Young men and women bunched together gossiping, standing so close Lillie found no wedge of space between them to lever herself in. She stood on the outside of the groups, alone. Groups congregated and dispersed, people moved and jostled, acted and reacted, embraced and retracted under the fluorescent light.

Clutching her home-woven woollen tote bag, she side-stepped to the tea stand.

‘No milk!’ said a girl. She struggled to hide her protruding teeth between her lips. Her hazel eyes brightened. ‘Wookie!’

A man, appearing like the Wookie character, Chewbacca from Star Wars in size and amount of hair on his face blundered past, spilling boiling tea on Lillie’s flared jeans. Hot tea, no milk, no sugar, no ‘oops’ or ‘sorry’ as he brushed her on his bumbling way into the masses.

An acquaintance, from school, flitted past, mincing steps in her tight-fitting paisley pants, and layers of multicoloured silk. Primping her hippie afro, she stopped in mid-flight scratched the air chirping a brief ‘hello’. She glanced at Lillie’s plain black shoes, her beak curled and then she flew away into the crowd.

Lillie gazed down at her stupid shoes, scavenged from an op shop, she wiped her hands over her faded hand-me-down jeans, and tugged at her worn poodle jacket.

So, I’m not rich, she thought. No dad either. At least her best friend, Fifi and she were equal in the “no dad’ department now.

Lillie looked around the room, young ladies like peacocks strutting their Country Road rags, flaunting the fruits of love from wealthy parents. What was she doing here? She felt frumpy, everybody averting their eyes from her, avoiding her. She stared at the stained pine floorboards, her temples prickling with heat. Bad idea! Bad idea! What was I thinking? She twisted the bag handle in her fist and resolved to fight her way to the exit.

Fingers pinched her shoulder. ‘Lillie!’ A man’s deep voice rang.

Her heart skipped a beat as she turned. ‘Jimmy!’ She crossed her arms and focussed on his angular shoulders poking through his white t-shirt. His chicken breast chest rose and fell under the weight of a leather jacket. ‘So…’ Don’t think about the pass! Don’t get into conversation about the pass. It’s all in the past. ‘I haven’t seen you since – um…’ Just be thankful I have someone to talk to. Pink elephants. Mmm! I hope he doesn’t…I mean he’s just my best friend’s brother.

‘April? Easter in the…’

‘Flinders.’ She tried to avoid his sapphire blue eyes. Please don’t lead the conversation in that direction. ‘I like the jacket.’

‘Yeah?’ He pulled at the collar. ‘Makes me look like a rock star – Jim Edwards by name, Jim Morrison by nature.’

‘You do realise Jimmy Edwards is a British comedian,’ she said.

Jimmy laughed. ‘Famous, all the same.’

[Painting 3: Dinnertime, Arkaroola, Northern Flinders Ranges © L.M. Kling]

How did he afford an authentic leather jacket? It made her wonder about her brother Sven, who suddenly, at the beginning of the year, had cash to buy a year-old 1976 Ford Falcon XB. A shiny red Ford Falcon that looked like a slick shark and roared like a lion. She never asked. He never said. Same as he never questioned her about Mr. Percy Edwards’ disappearance. Neither did his son, Jimmy for that matter.

‘You like?’ Jimmy swayed, showing off his jacket.

‘Hardly!’ Lillie sighed. She felt stranded. Yes, he’s a friend.What happened in the Flinders stays in the Flinders, he should understand that. He should. Let it pass. There’s that word again. Just friends. Why do they always want more?

Jimmy nudged her arm. ‘Hey, Lillie, did you see me in the band?’

Stop trying to impress me! ‘Oh, er…’ She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, ‘I was way down the back, couldn’t see much of – except…’ her voice trailed into the thick of the hubbub. Francis Renard stood in a group, head and shoulders taller, so close, just Jimmy, and the groupies surrounding Francis dividing them. As Jimmy continued to try and impress her, Lillie patted her blonde locks and pulled at her cream skivvy, desperate to catch Francis’s attention.

A lull. Jimmy paused. Lillie snapped her attention back to him. ‘You were saying?’

Jimmy’s eyes narrowed and he bit his trembling lip. ‘You weren’t listening – what is it back there?’

Lillie shrugged. Sprung!

Jimmy glanced over his shoulder. ‘Oh! Fruitcake!’ He turned back hunching over as if trying to retreat into the shell of his leather jacket.

Lillie pointed in Francis’s direction. ‘Is that…?’

Jimmy darted his eyes from side to side.

‘Lucky Sven isn’t here,’ she said. For Lillie, this comment had a double meaning. One, her big brother wasn’t there to interfere. Two, he wasn’t there to cause a scene menacing with his .22 rifle or his fists in Francis’s face.

Jimmy straightened up and bared his perfect row of teeth. ‘Well, it’s been a long day. I’m off.’ He patted Lillie’s cheek. ‘You need a lift?’

‘It’s okay,’ Lillie pulled away from any further Jim touches, ‘I have a lift.’ Her nose tingled with the lie. Sure, Jimmy lived next door, but after the Flinders Ranges camping trip, she had avoided Jimmy’s offers for a lift. Just didn’t seem right, him being Fifi’s brother and one of Sven’s friends. Although, when she considered their relationship, it was one-sided; Jimmy always coming over to visit Sven and Jimmy always the one suggesting they go to the beach to surf or a water-skiing trip up the river.

Pity Sven didn’t go to the youth service. He’d avoided church and all things religious since Easter. Come to think of it, since Dad had gone. He blamed God.

‘See ya at the coffee shop?’ Jimmy nodded at her, then dug his hands in his jeans pockets and sauntered out the exit and into the darkness.

[Painting 4: Evening Camp, Arkaroola, Northern Flinders Ranges © L.M.Kling]

Lillie loped up to Francis’s group. She knew some of the crew from the coffee shop. ‘Hi,’ she said and grinned, her knees melting like wax in the presence of Francis. So suave. So French.

One by one the members of the group groaned their excuses and drifted away, leaving Francis fidgeting opposite Lillie. He nodded, opened his ribbon lips to bare his teeth. She noticed he had a slight gap between his top front teeth.

Cute, she thought.

Lillie’s tongue tied up in knots rendering her mute, while her brain offered suggestions and lines her voice rejected. She felt like a fish out of water gasping for air or any idea floating around that might hook him in.

He shrugged and then darted for the door.

Lillie raced after him and onto the footpath. Catching him by the arm, she said, ‘Look, about Sven…’

He stopped; his broad shoulders flinched. He spun around to face Lillie. ‘Who are you?’

She sprang back, his question sinking like a lead weight to the pit of her stomach. ‘But we – I mean we – I thought…’ she scrambled for an explanation.

He raised an eyebrow having a Sean Connery expression about him.

‘At Easter – in the Flinders…’ Lillie wrung her hands in her poodle jacket sleeves. ‘You and your friends were our next-door neighbours.’

‘You? No!’ He pointed at her black shoes. ‘You’re lucky I didn’t report him to the police. I have friends in the force, you know.’

‘I’m sorry about him. He means well, I mean…’ Lillie rubbed her fake woollen arms. ‘I mean, he was just trying to protect me in his own way. Being my brother ‘n all.’

‘What? Pointing a .22 rifle in my head?’ Francis aimed his index finger at his ear. He breathed out plumes of steam into the autumn air. ‘What did I do to provoke ‘im?’

[Painting 5: Rawnsley Bluff, Flinders Ranges © L.M. Kling]

‘Yeah, point taken.’ Lillie looked down at the damp asphalt, then glanced up at him. ‘Are you going anywhere near Glenelg? I need a lift.’ As soon as she produced that little gem, thoughts of recrimination crowded in. Have you got rocks in your head? What made you blurt that out? What if he takes you up on the offer? He won’t. Besides, he’s at least five years older than you. You tart! Mole! Am not! He’s spunky, I like him. Yeah, well he might just be a serial rapist and killer for all you know. He’s not, I’m sure he isn’t. Look at all those girls that have gone missing. He wouldn’t do that. Not him. What if he’s all hands going everywhere? What then? Hmm? Don’t be silly, he hasn’t taken up the offer yet.

‘I’m sorry, little girl, I cannot ‘elp you. No?’ Francis stared down at Lillie. ‘I’m going in the opposite direction. And I ‘ave university tomorrow and an early lecture. No?’

‘Yeah, fine.’ Lillie shrugged, then turned towards the amber lights of the hall. See, I was right. I knew he wouldn’t accept. Still, worth a try. She heard the click of a car door opening. She looked over her shoulder.

‘Maybe I see you at the Social Saturday night?’ she asked.

‘Maybe,’ she thought she heard him say. Bang! The door slammed shut. The car roared to life and disappeared east up Flinders Street in a cloud of smoke.

Fine rain spat on Lillie’s crown as she plodded towards King William Street. 9:00pm, Sven would be in the Pancake Parlour by this time. She’d hitch a ride home, so to speak, in her brother’s almost new red Ford Falcon XB.

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

Feature painting: Echo Camp, Arkaroola, Northern Flinders Ranges © L.M. Kling

***

Sometimes characters spring from real life,

Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.

Sometimes real life is just real life.

Check out my travel memoirs,

And escape in time and space

To Central Australia.

Click on the links:

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or for a greater escape into another world…

Check out my Sci-fi/ dystopian novel,

And click on the link:

The Lost World of the Wends

Travelling Friday–T-Team Next Gen: Coober Pedy

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Saturday 6-7-13

Coober Pedy

Meet by the Monument. What monument?

[Day 2 of the T-Team Next Gen’s pilgrimage to Central Australia to scatter Dad’s ashes…]

Mambray Creek greeted us with a picture-perfect morning; a morning that, in years to come, we could boast about to the T-Team who missed it in all its delicate beauty. Kookaburras announced the sunrise with their manic laughter. Parrots chattered in the trees. The air was calm, but not too cold.  And the shower in the stone toilet block was warm and refreshing. I wondered where the MB (My Brother) component of the T-Team had camped. If they had camped. And if they’d enjoyed a warm shower in the morning.

[Photo 1: Morning glow at Mambray Creek © L.M. Kling 2013]

When I returned from my shower, Hubby was busy sizzling chops on the portable butane gas cooker. The aroma drew me in and soon I enjoyed lamb chop sandwich for breakfast.

[Photo 2: Hubby with cooked lamb chops © L.M. Kling 2013]

Then we were packed and ready to hit the road to Coober Pedy by 9.30am. The plan, meet the rest of the T-Team at Coober Pedy.

[Photo 3: A magpie wanted some chops too. Mambray Creek © L.M. Kling 2013]

On the way, we stopped in at Port Augusta where we bought those inevitable forgotten items such as a wooden board and soap. Now, if I hadn’t had a shower that morning…and if Hubby hadn’t cooked breakfast…

We then commenced the journey on the Stuart Highway, flat, straight, gibber plains each side and the white dividing line disappearing into the distance. Hubby was happy to tackle this new kind of boring.

[Photo 4: Start of the Stuart Highway. Goodbye, Flinders Ranges © C.D. Trudinger 1981]

Hubby’s phone tingled breaking the monotony at 11am. My niece informed us that the T-Team had already reached Coober Pedy.

‘They must’ve driven most of the night,’ Hubby remarked.

I had visions of MB and co not sleeping until they were on the outskirts of Coober Pedy.

As the phone reception was seriously patchy, the bare amount of information was exchanged. Arrangements were made to meet at the monument when we arrived. They would be spending the day at Coober Pedy, enjoying the sights and attractions of this mining town.

We continued our trek towards Coober Pedy, obeying the speed limit of 100km per hour. The Gibber Plains sparkled like silver. I took some photos of the gibber when we had a short break.

[Photo 5: Gibber Plains by the Stuart Highway © L.M. Kling 2013]

Six hours after the T-Team had called us, we arrived in Coober Pedy. In an effort to find the agreed monument, we took a scenic tour of Coober Pedy and its grid of streets. No Monument. No T-Team.

‘What does this monument look like?’ Hubby asked.

I shrugged. ‘Like a monument.’ I had a vague recollection from my youth and the T-Team’s trek with Mr. B in 1977. MB and I had our photos taken by this so-called monument, or on this monument. But finding something that resembled the fuzzy memory in my mind? Nup, not today.

I rang my niece. ‘Where are you?’

‘We’re at the playground with the giant tyres,’ she replied. ‘You can’t miss it. It’s the first thing you see when you enter Coober Pedy.’

‘We’re having a barbeque!’ Mrs. T yelled.

‘Where are they?’ Hubby asked.

‘The playground near the entry of Coober Pedy,’ I said, ‘We must’ve driven right past them.’

‘How could you miss them?’ Hubby snapped. ‘Are you blind?’

‘Must’ve been in a parallel universe,’ I muttered. Sure, there was no one there when we drove into the town.

[Photo 6: Had they fallen down a mine shaft? The many mine shafts on the outskirts of the opal mining town, Coober Pedy © S.O. Gross 1955]

Hubby wound his way through the straight streets to the playground with the tyres. He glanced at the giant tyre structure. ‘Did you mean this monument?’

‘I don’t know, but obviously the MB did.’ I pointed. ‘There they are.’

MB was fiddling with the barbeque hotplates while Mrs. T stood behind him with a packet of sausages. The T-ling girls played on the swings, while the boy sat in the van, eyes glued to his iPad. A sign near the picnic area warned that the barbeque was only to be used during daylight. The sun hovered just above the horizon.

Over sizzling sausages, Mrs. T apologised for deserting us. But she just wanted to reach Coober Pedy and spend the day there. We had planned to explore Coober Pedy on our way back, after spending a night camping there. However, Mrs. T had a sense that plans at the end of the trip may not work out and wanted to get Coober Pedy in on the way up to Central Australia.

[Photo 7: Opal from Coober Pedy cut by Hubby’s Omi (grandma) © L.M. Kling 2018]

‘Did you get any sleep?’ I asked.

‘We parked in some parking bay, just outside of the town,’ MB said.

‘It was terrible!’ the younger niece said. ‘We were all cramped in the van, and we got no sleep at all.’

‘Mum kept kicking me in the head,’ my nephew cried.

‘You were snoring!’ Mrs. T bit back.

‘No, I wasn’t. You were!’ Nephew laughed. ‘I was just imitating you.’

‘Yeah, the kids were pretty cranky that we didn’t stay at Mambray Creek,’ MB whispered to me.

‘Yeah, but, who wanted to have KFC at Port Augusta? Hmm?’ Mrs. T didn’t miss a trick. ‘I wasn’t going to go backwards once we had takeaway and had gone as far as Port Augusta.’

[Photo 8: More Stuart Highway, more gibber plain © L.M. Kling 2013]

In darkness we drove endless kilometres to some elusive free parking bay. Mrs. T’s dream was to sleep under the stars, just as the T-Team in 1981 had done. In the pitch blackness of night, about 9 – 10pm, we settled in a spare patch in an already crowded free parking area.

On the unforgiving stony surface, MB and wife constructed their questionable number of star accommodation of raised camp bed, piles of doonas topped with a tarpaulin. A little distance from them, actually, right next door, Hubby and I arranged our bedding on that rocky ground covered by tarpaulin then blow-up mattress. We had no camp bed, but we had our minus five sleeping bags in which to wrap ourselves. We also covered our swaddled selves with another tarpaulin. Hubby grumbled about this, but he had no choice; the ground was too hard to hammer tent pins in.

[Photo 9: Free camping and our questionable number of star accommodation © L.M. Kling 2013]

The T-lings opted to sleep in the van.

My nephew chuckled. ‘At least I won’t have mum’s foot in my face. I should get some sleep.’

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2024

Feature Photo: Those Gibber Plains © 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 memoirs,

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

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

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (United States)

T-Team Next Generation–The Convoy…

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Trekking With the T-Team, Next Generation:

Central Australia Convoy 2013

[More than ten years ago, the T-Team, next generation embarked on their pilgrimage to Central Australia. Purpose: to scatter Dad’s ashes in his beloved Central Australia, in Ormiston Gorge.

Over the next few monthly Travel Fridays, 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. Then, it’s about time I put this story together into a book.]

Friday 5 July, 2013

The Convoy that Never Was

T-Team Next Generation’s convoy to Central Australia only took six hours to fragment and evaporate.

The said convoy consisted of Brother T’s family Mistubishi van containing my brother (Dad), Mrs. T (Mum), and three Teen-Lings (one boy, two girls), and Mum T’s trusty Ford Falcon Station wagon with Hubby and me. Mum T with our sons (S1 and S2) would be joining us in approximately a week’s time, flying up by plane to Alice Springs.

That was the plan.

With camping at Mambray Creek in the Flinders Ranges in mind, the T-Team Next Generation Convoy, took a recess break at Port Pirie where Mrs. T checked out a craft shop. Nearby, what appeared to be a church, was in fact a Barnacle bills Family Seafood Restaurant. Mrs. T, armed with crafting supplies, allowed the convoy to continue. But thoughts of an easy takeaway had been planted in some of the T-Team Next Generation’s minds.

[Photo 1: Crafty Stop at Port Pirie © L.M. Kling 2013]

Then, there was the obligatory stop at Port Germein. For Brother T and friends who frequented the Flinders Ranges, a pause in the trip at Port Germein was tradition. Although the sun was fast sinking below the horizon, we braved the brisk winter air and took a stroll up the longest jetty in the Southern hemisphere.

[Photo 2: Dancing by the Port Germein Jetty in times gone past ©L.M. Kling 1984]
[Photo 3: Port Germein Jetty stretching into the distance © L.M. Kling 2013]

And so, at 6.30pm and in darkness, Hubby and I turned off to Mambray Creek…

And Brother’s team, driven by Mrs. T…didn’t.

I fumbled for my mobile and called MB. ‘What’s happening?’

‘Mrs. T’s decided to keep on going,’ my brother sighed. ‘Once she makes up her mind, you don’t argue with her. Besides, the kids want Hungry Jacks for tea a Port Augusta, they have vouchers.’

Hubby had made up his mind. We weren’t about to follow. We’d be camping at Mambray Creek and would continue our journey north fresh after a good night’s sleep. In the morning. After all, they promised to catch up with us in Coober Pedy; we had mobile phones to keep in contact, after all.

[Photo 4: Mambray Creek towards sunset © L.M. Kling 2018]

Despite the darkness, Hubby managed to set up the two-man tent in minutes. Then, although suffering the pangs of disappointment, we downed a light tea of bread, with packet soup and hot chocolate using water boiled from Hubby’s eco billy. ‘We’ll have the chops when there’s more light,’ I said, ‘in the morning.’

[Photo 5: Our trusty two-man tent on a previous visit to Mambray Creek © L.M. Kling 2005]

‘Now, to see if these minus-five sleeping bags keep us warm in the desert.’ Hubby snuggled into our co-joined sleeping bag. ‘Did I ever tell you how when camping with my family in the Flinders, I had to sleep in a cotton sleeping bag? It was freezing!’

[Photo 6: K-Team appearing suitably chilled in the Flinders Ranges © N. Kling 1982]

To which I replied, ‘Yes. But when the T-Team were in the Musgrave Ranges, it was so cold…’

[Photo 7: Chill in the morning near Mt. Woodroffe, Musgrave Ranges © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1981]

I looked over to Hubby’s side. Was he snoring? I snuggled close to him. I guess for him, this minus-five sleeping bag passed the test.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2020; updated 2024

Feature Photo: Approaching Darkness at Port Germein © 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 memoirs,

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

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

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (United States)

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (UK)

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (Germany]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [France]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (India)

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Canada]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Mexico]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Italy]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Brazil]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Spain]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Japan]

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari [Netherlands]

Family History Friday (with a bit of Travel)–Basel

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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, I believe some do even today. And on my mother’s side, my two-times Great Grandfather and my Great grandfather studied for the ministry in Basel. No wonder, when I visited Basel, especially the Altstadt, I felt a connection to the place and 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 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??? 2024, 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

Feature photo: Postcard of Basel Minster Front and Back © 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 Centre of Australia 1981…

***

Or for travel into a parallel world of Science Fiction and Fantasy,

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My novel that ventures into an alternate universe in the

War Against Boris Series…

The Lost World of the Wends

Where 19th Century Eastern Europe meets the 21st Century…

Travel on Friday–Schwarzwald (Black Forest) and Alsace…

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Virtually Revisited

[Over ten years ago, we visited the Black Forest, Germany and the following day the Alsace where we walked through the remains of the battlefield between the Germans and the French.]

The Battle of the Tom Tom in the Black Forest

Friday August 8, 2014, we braved the German highways and byways (our Tom Tom has a tendency to lead us astray down byways) and made our way via the scenic/economic route (thanks to Tom Tom) to Badenweiler on the edge of the Black Forest. My relatives, invited us to stay with them in beautiful Badenweiler. When we called them at lunchtime, our estimated time of arrival was 3.00pm. But, after Tom Tom had finished executing her agenda, we arrived at 4.30pm. I think Tom Tom was enjoying the quaint narrow roads and geranium garnished buildings, but we weren’t as we stressed driving down narrow lanes narrowly missing oncoming traffic. What joy to arrive—in one piece—and enjoyed good southern German hospitality and the kaffe und kuchen on the balcony overlooking their garden, then a balmy summer evening walk in the town.

[Photo 1: View of Badenweiler © A.N. Kling 2014]

Next morning, Anthony and I went bather shopping in the town. My cousin explained that Badenweiler was known for its warm summers and mild winters, so we must swim in the thermal pools while we were in Badenweiler. But, how could we bathe in the thermal pools if we didn’t have bathers? Some Germans do in the Roman baths but not us modest Aussies.

I entered the hairdressers who had a rack of bathing costumes displayed in the front of the shop. I asked the manageress if she spoke English. No, she didn’t. But somehow, I managed to understand enough German to select, try on and buy a pair of bathers. I couldn’t fault the German quality, style and service.

125 Euros less in our bank account later, Anthony then entered the store next door for men’s bathers. The man who owned the shop could speak English. ‘Did you forget yours? You know I make a good trade. At least 20% of the French who come here forget their bathers and I guess Australians do too.’

‘Yes, I did,’ Anthony replied. He then selected a pair—mini lycra pants. At least they weren’t budgie smugglers—Anthony avoided those ones.

[Photo 2: The Black Forest © L.M. Kling 2014]

After lunch we climbed a local mountain Hoch Blauen which is just a little higher than our (Adelaide’s) local rise, Mount Lofty, well 1165m really. Cousins told their son we’d be back by 6pm. We trudged up the gentle slope. I hadn’t climbed any mountains in years and like the tortoise ambled behind the others. Every so often they stopped for me to catch up.

‘Are you alright?’ they asked.

‘Yes, I’m fine.’

‘We can stop and go back any time.’

‘No, I’m fine.’

We reached a hut with a table and bench seats. While I drank water, the others ate croissants.

[Photo 3: Resting on way up © L.M. Kling 2014]

I gazed at the hillside covered with pine trees. Surely the top isn’t far. We set off again.

‘Look, Lee-Anne, some level ground,’ Anthony said.

But not for long and worse, a sign indicated another 4km to the summit.

[Photo 4: Basel visible from the summit © A.N. Kling 2014]

After a saddle, the slope grew steeper. But I soldiered on with the occasional stop to take snapshots of the forest, and the distant mountains. After plodding for what seemed an eternity, we reached the summit. I scrambled to a seat to sit and recover. Anthony still had energy to climb a tower. Basel was visible from there.

‘Oh, you must go to the guest house,’ my cousin said.

‘Nup, I’m not moving,’ I said.

But later, tempted by the panoramic view and a man floating in the sky with a parachute, I joined Anthony in a final trek to the guest house.

[Photo 5 and feature: Vista with paraglider © L.M. Kling 2014]

The return hike took half the time and effort. We arrived back at the house at 8pm.

Sunday, August 10, Anthony and I relaxed our weary muscles in the thermal pool. I sun baked and napped on the deck chairs provided.

Remembering a Battle 100 years ago

Monday, August 11, our hosts took us over the border to France. Their Sat Nav like the Tom Tom, lead us on a scenic and highland tour. They stopped to ask French farmer who directed us to drive further up the mountain. Our driver reversed his Rover, and asked another farmer raking leaves off the road. Yes, this was the right road.

[Photo 6: The farmhouse restaurant in Alsace © L.M. Kling 2014]

My cousin drove the vehicle around the tight bends, and narrow alpine road. Great scenery, mountains like waves, rising and falling in the distance. Finally, civilisation—a cheese house. Again, directions were sought. Yes, just up and around the summit, the ‘La Grand Ballon’ at ~1400m. And…yes, up and around the peak, the farmhouse restaurant…and we were on time. I savoured an entrée of goat’s cheese on herb toast and then beef with mashed potato.

Then a quiet and meditative walk through the trenches of the French-German front of WW1.

Hard to believe the carnage. It’s so peaceful and what remains is overgrown with ferns, plants and trees.

[Photo 7: French WWI gravesite in the Alsace © L.M. Kling 2014]
[Photo 8: Overgrown fortress © L.M. Kling 2014]
Photo 9: Overgrown mementos © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2014

Tuesday August 12, we left Badenweiler, to contend with trucks, road works, traffic jams in Freiburg, and our wayward Tom Tom to find our way to Burgau in Bavaria. Our Tom Tom led us right to a dead end of road works, just five kilometres from Burgau. Anthony managed to find our way around the “dud” roundabout exit and we arrived ten minutes after I rang the manager to say we’d arrive in half an hour.

[Photo 10: Our half an hour in Freiburg © L.M. Kling 2014]

[Read about the battle with the Tom Tom continuing in Bavaria— click on the link here.]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2014; updated 2020; 2024; 2026

Feature Photo: Paraglider launching off the Hoch Blauen

***

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:

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari

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

Family History Friday–Grandma’s Letter Part 2

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Grandma’s circular letter

CIRCULAR WRITTEN by ELSA GROSS from HERMANNSBURG,

OCTOBER 1939

From Riverland to Desert (part 2)

About quarter to 7 we arrived at the station and there was the whole station out to meet us, black and white, big and little, and such a noise too, it sounded just like a whole lot of parrots or galahs.  Then the truck came to a standstill and Sam got out and had to shake hands all around.  I had to stay in the truck on account of the measles.  I could only talk to them from a distance.  It was just like a dream and to see all the natives running to and fro, reminded me of the movie films which Lou Borgelt had taken in New Guinea.

*[Photo 1: Greetings on arrival in Hermannsburg © S.O. Gross 1939]

        Well, after all the greetings were over we were taken across to our new home, which by the way isn’t very new, it’s one of the oldest houses on the station.  Mrs Albrecht was going to have us over there for the first few days for meals, but through this measles business we decided it was best if we stayed isolated for a while so as not to infect the natives.  Mrs Albrecht sent us over our tea, then, and such a huge tea, too, and we did full justice to it, too.

        And now began our life on the station.  But so far we haven’t seen very much of it, I haven’t been out of the place at all, Sam has gone to the other places more, but we keep away as much as possible.  And now, last weekend, Ruth gets the German Measles, she was fairly miserable, but is alright again now, except for a cough.  Now it means we have to stay isolated for another 10 days or so, in case Marie gets them.  It is a real nuisance, because we can’t get to anything properly.  The only advantage it has is that we can get things a bit straight around the place.

*[Photo 2: The not-so-new home—even older in 2021!!! © L.M. Kling 2021]

        Such a lot wants doing, the doors don’t fit, and the floors need doing, and the garden has to be made.  These last two days Sam has had 2 natives helping him with all sorts of odd jobs, yesterday and today they dug the front garden and this morning we planted the lawn and tomorrow I want to put in some flowers.

        The first 2 days we were here were terribly windy and dusty and hot.  The dust came in everywhere, it was just like a real dusty day in the mallee.   Our box of goods was supposed to come out the same day that we got out here, but it didn’t come Wednesday, we waited Thursday, and still didn’t come.  By this time Missionary Albrecht was getting worried, he thought the thing might have tipped over.  Friday morning we got a wire to say they couldn’t get it off the truck in Alice Springs.  They had been trying to get the wire through since Tuesday but the weather had been too bad, they couldn’t get it through.  So Sam had to pack up an go into Alice Springs and there saw to the unloading.  Eventually on Sunday afternoon the lorry arrived and was duly unpacked, of course the natives were very interested in everything, especially the piano.

*[Photo 3: The arduous journey of belongings to Hermannsburg © S.O. Gross 1939]

        So far I haven’t any house girls yet, as soon as we are out of quarantine I will get two.  Mrs Albrecht has been baking my bread for me until I get the girls.  Milk I have brought over every morning, also cream and from that I make my own butter, but unfortunately I am not a good hand at it yet.  There are some nice vegetables in our garden, which is quite a big one, we have over 20 date palms in it, 4 orange trees and 3 figs and quite a number of vines.  This last week we had about an inch of rain which was quite nice for the gardens and settled the dust.

*[Photo 4: Garden view to Mt. Hermannsburg—yes, the palms still exist in 2021 © L.M. Kling 2021]

        I am afraid it will take me quite a while to get to know all the natives and all their names too.  I know Albert, the artist, by sight, of course, he always wears an overcoat and is quite proud of his appearance.  I also know,

Manasse the leather worker, also Herbert and Ferdinand the two Sam had helping him.  Of the women, I think the only one I know by name is,        

Cecelia, an older woman who always wears a red dress.  Some of the children are lifted up so that they look over the fence to watch the children play and when we come out they scoot.  Some of their attire is pretty weird too.  One little chap wears his father’s shirt, it reaches nearly to the ground and has to have the sleeves rolled up.  Another little girl has her big sister’s dress on, and every time she runs she has to hold it up or she would fall over it.  Another little chap has a “has been” shirt on, his father’s, it’s only strips now.  Most of the men wear hats, some felt, some harvester hats.  The boys that Sam has have straw hats on but they look as though the mice have been at them.  Yesterday morning the one came along with feathers sticking out of the holes, I don’t know if he had visited the fowl-house or not.

*[Photo 5: Hermannsburg back in the day © S.O. Gross circa 1950]

        And now we have been here nearly 4 weeks and haven’t been able to do any real work yet, but we hope it won’t be much longer before we can start.

        And so begins our life on the Hermannsburg Mission Station.  May God make us a blessing to many.

© Elsa Gross 1939

*Feature Photo: My grandma, Elsa looking out from her Hermannsburg home © S.O. Gross circa 1940

***

Want more, but different?

Check out my Central Australian adventures.

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Family History Friday–1939

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Letters from our forebears give us today a rich picture of them, their personalities and their lives. As it’s my maternal grandmother’s birthday tomorrow (March 16), I am sharing the first part of a circular letter written by Elsa of the family’s relocation from the Murray Riverland to the desert Centre of Australia back in October 1939. My grandpa, Sam, Elsa’s husband had been called to be a missionary pastor in Hermannsburg, Northern Territory. Note the timing of this adventure. World War Two had just broken out, but no mention in this letter.

CIRCULAR WRITTEN by ELSA GROSS from HERMANNSBURG,

OCTOBER 1939

                                                                        Hermannsburg

                                                                        via Alice Springs

                                                                        October 1939

[Photo 1: The Family © S.O. Gross 1939]

Dear Friends,

        Well, here we are at Hermannsburg at last, our long journey is at an end.  We have a home again, although till now our goods haven’t arrived – we are anxiously waiting for them to be able to pack away our things – but – this is the land of ‘wait-a-while’ – so we will just have to wait until they come.

[Photo 2: Moving home chaos, home in Berri, Riverland South Australia © S.O. Gross September 1939]

        We had a very pleasant journey up from Adelaide.  Went as far as Port Augusta in my father’s car, after having stayed overnight at a cousin’s place in Murraytown.  It was very nice going up by car, it saved changing twice and with all our luggage it would have been quite a picnic.  We had arranged to meet Karl in Port Augusta, but when we arrived there we discovered he had German Measles, so we could only speak to him from the other side of the room; he was in bed, and he couldn’t even come to see us off, which was quite disappointing.

[Photo 3: On Father’s (my grandmother’s father pastor F.W. Basedow) Car © S.O. Gross 1939]

        Anyhow, at 4.30am on Thursday 28th we steamed out of the Port Augusta station.  We had sleeping berths, the children and I with 2 other ladies in the one compartment, 4 berths in each, and Sam & 3 other men in the next compartment.  During the day we were mostly alone in Sam’s compartment, the other men went on the other part of the train and just came back to sleep.  It was very nice because then the children had room to romp around a bit.  The sleeping berths were very comfortable, 2 at the top and 2 at the bottom.  We all had bottom ones, Ruth & Marie in one, I in the other one and Margaret between in her basket.  During the day the beds are just ordinary seats and for the night they put the back-leans down and it makes a comfortable bed.  The children stood the travelling very well, they were very excited of course to go in the train.  The end of the second day (Friday) they got a bit tired of it, but soon got over that.  The only one who didn’t enjoy it too much was Margaret, she was running a temperature most of the time and was particularly grizzly on Saturday afternoon.  The next morning we could see why – she had German Measles, but the rash didn’t last long, and now she is just about right again.  Now we are wondering if Ruth and Marie will get it, they have colds, so we are keeping ourselves isolated out here, we don’t want to give it to the natives, they always get things so much worse than the whites.  One of the ladies in our compartment had them too, she was very miserable, was in bed for most of the trip.

[Photo 4: On the Ghan heading up north to Alice Springs © S.O. Gross 1939]

        Well, to go on with our trip.  From Port Augusta to Oodnadatta, which we reached at 9 o’clock on Friday night, there wasn’t much to see, flat deserty-looking country, a lot of it covered with stones, not nice smooth ones, were like broken bits, it makes a person wonder where they all came from — no hills, just these plains covered with stones.  We also passed a lake, but that looked as dreary and dead-looking as all the rest of the country.  That was to Oodnadatta, when it was night.  But when we woke the next morning it was different, grass and trees and ranges and wild flowers.  One advantage about this trip is, that they stop at every station or siding, sometimes there are just one or 2 houses, other places a few more.  One place we stopped at, Anna Creek, by name, the 2 or 3 railway houses had lovely gardens and lawns, such a contrast to all the surrounding country.  We saw something similar at Rumbalara , where the police station is.  At this place we had to wait for nearly 2 hours as our engine had broken something and they had to steam up another one.  This long stay enabled us to see some of the wild flowers growing along the line.  They are altogether different to the ones in the south, and such a variety, too, and they appeared to be past their best too.  It must be a wonderful sight when they are all out.  This delay at Rumbalara made us late, of course, at Alice Springs.  We arrived there at quarter to 5 instead of 2.15.  Missionary Albrecht arrived to meet us a few minutes after the train was in, and took us and our host of luggage to Johannsens, where we slept.

[Photo 5: A picnic lunch on the way © S.O. Gross 1939]

        After we had had tea Missionary Albrecht took us out to the little church which they have in Alice Springs.  It was presented by Mr Materne of Nuriootpa as a Thank offering.  It is a nice little church with a fairly large vestry and a sleep-out, so that anyone coming in from the mission station has somewhere to stay.  At the church we met some of the natives of Alice Springs, they are being cared for by the evangelist Martin, who holds services twice every Sunday, when there is no missionary there and also gives baptismal instruction.  He is a very fine man.  Here the children met the first natives.  They had seen some from the train already and were greatly excited.  To our amazement they weren’t at all afraid of them, and not any more shy, if as shy, as with white children.  They shook hands with them much to the natives delight.

[Photo 6: Where’s our homely contents? © S.O. Gross 1939]

        The next day services were held there, in the morning it was in Arunda, but during the service Missionary Albrecht welcomed Sam and he then spoke a few words to them in English.  In the afternoon Sam conducted the service and preached the sermon, in English of course.  There were about 60 natives there for the services, not as many as usual so they said, some were away working.  Several whites came to the afternoon service, Johannsens and others.  Unfortunately I wasn’t able to go as Margaret was sick, I was so sorry I had to miss it.

[Photo 7: The moving van back then on its way to Hermannsburg © S.O. Gross 1939]

        On Monday Sam and Missionary Albrecht had quite a lot of business to see to, and then on Tuesday morning we set off for Hermannsburg at about 11 o’clock, Sam and Marie on the back of the loaded truck with a native man, and Missionary Albrecht and Ruth, Margaret and I in the front seat.  It was a fairly hot day but not unpleasant.  We called in at “The Jay”, 25 miles from “The Alice”, the home of Mr & Mrs T. Strehlow.  They persuaded us to stay there for dinner.  They have a nice little home, 3 rooms, with a lovely wide verandah, made of cement bricks.  They also have a refrigerator.  It was just lovely to have the nice cool water and also ice cream, a real luxury way out in the bush.  At about 3 o’clock we went on.  It wasn’t quite so hot then.  Up to the Jay the road had been fair, it had been made some time ago for the Governor General.  After we left the Jay it wasn’t quite so good, it had been washed out by the heavy rains and that meant driving fairly slowly with the loaded truck.  We had to cross over so many creeks and of course there were no bridges, but stones and sand instead.  The truck had to pull and pant and bump to get across in some places.  The scenery was quite nice though.  Before we came to the Jay we were travelling right in the ranges, but after passing there the country was more open, a plain, with ranges along both sides.  But there is nothing like a desert around here.  It is more like one of the back roads in the mallee, only of course more creek beds to cross.

[Photo 8: The Arrival of all the goods and chattels © S.O. Gross 1939]

        I quite forgot to mention that after we left the Jay we drove around the native camp, where blind Moses is the evangelist.  These natives live in grass huts.  They were very pleased see us and of course we had to shake hands all around.  Then they sang a hymn, after which Missionary Albrecht offered up a prayer and they all then recited the Lord’s Prayer, all in Arunta of course. It was wonderful to think that out there in the bush, underneath the gum trees, those natives praying and singing praises to their Saviour just as the white people do in their Churches.  The natives were very interested in our children, and of course our children were very interested in them too.  Before we left Missionary Albrecht had to take orders for the different ones, they had a few pennies to spend, one wanted a hair clasp, another some lollies and so on.  Next time somebody from here goes to Alice Springs the things have to be taken to them from the store here.

[…to be continued]

© Elsa Gross 1939

Feature Photo: The Gross Girls on the Ghan © S.O. Gross 1939

***

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Final Trek Friday–T-Team Next Gen

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Woomera, Then Home (part 2)

[I never actually finished the story of the T-Team, Next Generation’s adventures in Central Australia in 2013. So, here is the final chapter in the series. Next month, I will commence the journey at the beginning, as I revisit our journey to scatter my dad’s ashes in Central Australia eleven years ago.]

Woomera II and the Final Leg of our Journey

In the cool crisp morning, sun shining lemon yellow rays but not much warmth, we strolled around the Woomera Rocket Museum. Rockets of all shapes and configurations stood in the open-air, testimony of what once was. This RAAF Base and village was once a lively town in the 1950’s and 60’s, as an Anglo-Australian Cold War defence project. On this day Saturday July 20, 2013, the place seemed a mere shell of its former self, a cemetery of what once was, rockets rising like giant tombstones to the sky.

We meandered around the rockets, reading signs, eulogies from the past when threats from enemy nations was imminent. I was reminded of older friends telling me of a time when they practised drills of hiding under their school desk in the event of enemy attack.

*[Photo 1: Monument, A Rocket at Woomera © L.M. Kling 2013]

My mother recalled when on February 19, 1942, Darwin was bombed. She was a girl in Hermannsburg at the time and whenever a plane flew over, the Aranda women would wail, fearing disaster.

*[Photo 2: Twists and turns © L.M. Kling 2013]

Now, Hermannsburg was a mission set up by German missionaries in 1877. Although, by the 1940’s the mission was fair dinkum Australian having existed in Australia for all that time, with the advent of World War II and the conflict with Germany, the name, being German, raised the suspicions of the Allies. Hence, Mum remembers British Officers* drove into Hermannsburg to check the place out. They had to make sure there were no German spies. My grandpa, Pastor Sam Gross and his wife (my grandma) hosted these officers and put on a lovely spread of lunch for them.

[Photo 3: The Hermannsburg welcome Spread © C.D. Trudinger circa 1955]

After investigating any mitigating threats, the British Officers* drove away in their propeller plane satisfied that Hermannsburg was no threat. Never-the-less, they confiscated the one and only link to civilisation, the community pedal radio. Just in case they really were spies, I guess. Further, to make sure that no threat to the allies arose from this humble mission, they sent Rex Batterbee, a world War I veteran, to oversee the mission in the role of “protector of the aborigines”. As he had visited and then lived in Central Australia since the mid-1930’s, Rex taught Albert Namatjira to paint watercolours and helped him launch his career as a renowned artist.

*[Photo 4: Albert Namatjira at work © S.O. Gross circa 1950]

Homeward Bound

Needless to say, in 2013, such threats of foreign enemies seemed in the distant past. But, being only 446 km from our home town, Adelaide, we were reluctant to linger amongst the rockets. Having packed, and checked out of our overnight accommodation, we were eager to start our journey home.

At a steady 90 km/h, we made progress down the highway that split the gibber plains in halves.

‘I bet the T-Team (my brother’s family) are home by now,’ I said. ‘No hanging around of taking time to look at any more places for them.’

‘Why don’t you ring them just to see where they’re at,’ my hubby said.

I texted my niece. The time was 10:30am.

“We are in Port Augusta,” she replied by text.

‘There’s no way we’ll catch up to them,’ I said, and then texted back, “Have a safe trip home.”

*[Photo 5: Off we go over the gibber plains © L.M. Kling 2013]

Clouds and rain descended on the land the further we drove south. By the time we reached Port Wakefield, the cold had seeped into the car. I put my parka on my legs to keep warm. Yet, for lunch Hubby insisted we eat alfresco in the rotunda at Port Wakefield. After all, despite his aversion to the cold, he needed to stretch his legs. Plus, it seemed no café existed in the town.

The rain and cold became more intense as we approached Adelaide. After driving through the grey, sodden streets, we arrived home, just as darkness fell at 5:30pm.

What disaster awaited us?

Hubby opened the door and we trod inside. Son 1 played a computer game on the PC in the dining/living annex. He ignored us. We tiptoed through the family room. Not too much mess and the carpet remained visible, and clean.

We found Son 2 all rugged up and cosy in his room playing World of Warcraft. He said, “Hello” and then asked for a coffee, then followed the conversation up with, “I’m hungry, what’s for tea?”

In the kitchen, as I prepared a drink, I noticed the dishes had been done and the cats fed. I thanked Son 1 for the effort. He took all the glory and remarked that his brother had done nothing.

The Aftermath

There’s always casualties that follow every holiday. And this one was no different. Two paintings which I had planned to exhibit in the upcoming Marion Art Group exhibition had gone AWOL. I’d like to think they were stolen…but I reckon they would be found in some odd place sometime in the future.

*[Painting: Dad’s resting place, Ormiston Gorge © L.M. Kling 2018]

Eleven years hence as I write this final chapter, I wonder what paintings they were.

Oh, and the other casualty, Hubby, who proudly exalted that he had taken thousands of photos of the Central Australian trip on his mobile phone, can no longer find where those photos went. It would seem those photos went AWOL too.

As for the T-Team, they actually arrived home after us, having spent a night at Port Germaine. They decided to treat themselves after roughing it for the past two weeks.

*[Photo 6: Port Germaine Jetty © L.M. Kling 2024]

***

Note: *My mum, Mrs. T checked this and questioned whether they were British. She thinks they were more likely to be Australian. However, I have read a letter written by these officers and the words they used made them sound British. When I find the letter, I will investigate the background of the visiting officers and plan to write a more detailed account of my grandparent’s experience.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2024

Feature Photo: Woomera Open-air Museum in the morning © L.M. Kling 2013

***

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And escape in time and space to the Centre of Australia.

Trekking Thursday–Franklin-Gordon River Cruise

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[Last week, Hubby and I were talking to someone who had recently visited Tasmania. They went to Strahan, but for some reason didn’t do the Franklin-Gordon river cruise. We recommended that next time they go to Tassie, they revisit Strahan and do the cruise. Hence, to encourage prospective travellers to Tasmania, a re-visit in my blogs to Strahan on the West Coast of Tasmania. Ah, memories of travels with my husband, his brother (P1), and cousin from Switzerland (P2), to Tasmania; a brilliant and beautiful destination.]

K-Team Adventures—Strahan and Gordon River Cruises

An early start, just what the K-Team love. We were to board the Wilderness Cruise Boat by 8.45am. Not as early as the last time I took the cruise. Then, in 2011, I journeyed with my mother (Mrs T), for whatever reason, the ship departed much earlier than 8.45am. Fearing we’d miss the boat, Mum and I rose at the crack of dawn and ate our breakfast at a hotel opposite the wharf while watching the sun rise on the calm waters of Macquarie Harbour; an oil painting in hues of gold and pink with ducks on the jetty. Mum’s breakfast of Eggs Benedict was less than perfect; uncooked, runny and the “whites” not white. She’s never had Eggs Benedict again. I guess there had to be some compensation for the ideal weather we had that August day in 2011.

[Photo 1: Calm on Macquarie Harbour before Eggs Benedict © L.M. Kling 2011]

Not so for the K-Team in 2016. A perfect mix of personalities, no conflicts—apart from some initial altercation between my husband’s phone GPS navigator and the Kluger’s Pandora navigational system. Now that was something out of the box, so we packed away any semblance of pairing our phones with the car’s computer system and relied on the navigational system God had given us—our brains…and some forward planning with Google Maps. So, instead we had the weather as our thorn-in-the-side member of the K-Team. At least someone up there, I mean God, had been looking after us.

[Photo 2: Sign of weather come. A hiking trail in Hogarth Falls near Strahan © L.M. Kling 2016]

When we booked our cruise, the lady asked us, ‘Do you want to go on the ABT Railway up to Queenstown?’

‘How much?’ I asked.

The lady showed the prices.

‘What time does it get back?’

‘Oh, 5pm.’

‘Nah, we’re meeting my cousin at 4.30pm. So, we’ll take the cruise.’

A narrow escape. We heard that night while dining with my cousin, Kiah who at the time ran the Strahan Visitors Centre, that fallen trees on the railway track had stranded the tourists on the train for several hours. They arrived back in Strahan at 8.30pm. The next day, on the cruise, Kiah overheard some girls who had been on the train trip say they were going to write a reality TV show about bored kids.

[Photo 3: Thankfully, not stranded at Queenstown; ABT Railway Station with K-Team, the younger way back when…Looks like my kids can get bored at Railway Stations too. © L.M. Kling 2001]

The cruise, definitely not boring. First a ride out through the narrow heads and into the full force of the roaring 40’s and rough seas; P2’s highlight of the Tassie Trip. Hubby was surprised I didn’t get seasick. I’d remembered to take my ginger tablets.

[Photo 4: High seas past the heads, but the birds hang on. © L.M. Kling 2016]
[Photo 5: The safety of the lighthouse © L.M. Kling 2016]
[Photo 6: The lighthouse keepers’ cottage? © L.M. Kling 2016]

Then, after returning back into the safety of the harbour, a tour of the salmon farms; big, netted rings full of fish.

[Photo 7: Salmon Farms © L.M. Kling 2016]

Kiah and her team would be our guides on Sarah Island, the worst penal colony in the whole British Empire in the early nineteenth century. We spent an hour or so on the island touring around the various sites, the tour guides giving lively and entertaining accounts of Sarah Island’s history.

[Photo 8: Sarah Island approach © L.M. Kling 2016]

Walking up the gangway, I studied the wilderness mountains jutting above the forest lining the harbour and detected the vague outline of Frenchman’s Cap, clouds shrouding it from a clear view.

[Photo 9: So different with Mrs T; Frenchman’s Cap perfect through swamped trees of Sarah Island. © M.E. Trudinger 2011]

As we raced up the river, the Captain rabbited on about Sarah Island’s convict history and then he said, ‘While we travel up the river, think about what it would’ve been like living in those times on Sarah Island as a convict.’

[Photo 9: The Lookout © L.M. Kling 2011]
[Photo 10: Mrs T contemplates while crowd listens to tour guide © L.M. Kling 2011]

I recalled the play we’d seen the night before, The Ship that Never Was; the political climate and social conditions of nineteenth century Britain that created the huge gap between the rich and the poor, unemployment and homelessness, and the solution to send shiploads of social rejects (the convicts) to Australia—the worst offenders to the most remote place on earth, Sarah Island. Yet, in all of that condemnation and hopelessness, redemption. Some of these convicts, when they received their ticket of leave (freedom), became leaders in the colony; their skills not going to waste. Treat people like they matter, give them a chance. This is how I understood David Hoy, Master Shipwright treated the convicts. I could go on, but best if you ever go to Tasmania, go to Strahan, do the cruise and see the play.

[Photo 11: Scene from the Ship that Never Was © L.M. Kling 2001]

And while we were there, clutching the mini hot water bottles loaned to us for the duration of the performance, and waiting for the play to start, the tour group we encountered the previous day, joined the audience. Some of them ended up participating in the play. So did P2 helping the ship (just a pile of wood, really) sail to close to the coast of Chile…before it…well, you’ll have to see the play to find out what happened.

[Photo 12: Perfect reflections on a perfect day up the Gordon River © L.M. Kling 2011]

After a tasty buffet lunch of smoked salmon, cheese, bread and salad, we had a half-hour walk in the rainforest. Amazed at the variety and abundance of plant-life and how plants grow out of tree trunks and stumps. The old Huon pine stump that had been struck down by lightning a decade or so ago, was now a garden of seedlings, native laurel, moss, lichen, and ferns.

[Photo 13: New Life springs from That old Huon Pine © L.M. Kling 2016]
[Photo 14: A taste of a temperate rainforest © L.M. Kling 2011]

Then the race back to Strahan. In all we had travelled 140km on tour of the Macquarie Harbour, some way up the Gordon River and then back to Strahan.

P1 disappointed with the cloudy weather said, ‘How can I get good photos when there’s no sun?’

[Photo 15: And so, the sun sets on Strahan © L.M. Kling 2011]

‘They’re mood photos,’ I replied. Cheeky, I know, since in 2011, the sun shone on Mum and me, and I had dozens of chocolate-box photos of the Gordon River like glass reflecting perfectly vivid green forest trees. Oh, well. We were blessed that day in 2011. The western wilderness of Tasmania gets on average around 4000mm of rain a year. So more likely to get cloudy rainy days on a cruise than sunny, I guess.

Besides, did P1 have an Eggs Benedict like my mum had eaten that morning in 2011?

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2016; updated 2019; 2021; 2024

Feature Photo: Chocolate Box Reflections on the Gordon-Franklin River © L.M. Kling 2011

***

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Family History Friday–The Romantic Road

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Virtual Travel—Postcards: Bavaria (Bayern)

[Over our Australian summer Holidays, I have been down that proverbial rabbit-hole of family history research.


While researching the Kaiserhof Hotel Sonne in Nördlingen, which my family have claimed the Trüdinger ancestors owned for a couple of hundred years until the 1960’s, I discovered that, according to the information provided by the hotel’s website, that Goethe lived there for a year in 1788.


It’s amazing how life works and how the threads of our lives weave in and out. How our attitudes and values are influenced by how we see the world, and who we see in it. While Goethe was living in Nördlingen, Captain Cook in the Endeavour claimed Australia as belonging to Britain (as one who belonged to the British Empire would back then). And I wonder what Goethe thought of Nördlingen and my ancestors. Did he give much thought to the discovery of Australia and that someday, a little over a century hence, a descendant of those Trüdinger ancestors, or perhaps a relative who may have visited the hotel, would be emigrating to Australia with their family…erm, from Great Britain. That’s another story, suffice to say, my great-grandfather, a Trüdinger from Bavaria, was not a fan of Bismark.


Meanwhile, in 1788, a former Swiss noblewoman, Henriette Jeanette Crousaz de Prelaz (her father had died leaving the young family of mother and ten children in financial strife) relocated to the Christian community of Herrnhut. Did she have any idea that almost one hundred years later, her grandchild would marry my great-grandfather Karl August Trüdinger and relocate to Australia?
Below is our modern experience of this famous road, joining the many people who have travelled it.]

The Romantic Road

We passed through Ulm which was featured in this postcard but didn’t visit Ulm. We stayed in a town nearby called Burgau for a few days while we explored the Romantic Road. Our Tom-Tom, which we named Tomina, took great delight in leading us astray. In our quest to reach our Burgau apartment, Tomina decided to take us on a roadway that was closed to traffic.
Similarly, over one-hundred years ago, this postcard chased Theodora Bellan across Bavaria, originating in Sofflingen (a town that Google maps doesn’t recognise), then Nussdorf, and finally found her in Ludwigsburg.

The Romantic Road was one part of Germany, that despite the wars and modernisation of the twentieth century, never lost its Medieval charm. A reason I so wanted to travel this road of the Romans when we travelled to Germany in 2014.

Romantic Road


The next few days we explored the Romantic Road, although Tom Tom always tried to get us on the freeway. Friday, we did Tomina’s circuits in by never obeying her commands and instead following the Romantic Road signs.
Highlights of the Romantic Road:
• Nördlingen–the town of my Trüdinger ancestors and having lunch in the Kaiserhof Hotel Sonne restaurant which, we believe, was owned by the Trüdinger family until the 1960s. We then walked around the medieval wall. Hubby amused fellow travellers by greeting them with an Aussie “G’day”.

[Photos 1, 2, and 3 Aspects of Nördlingen, 4 & 5 Wassertrüdingen © L.M. Kling 2014]

Photo 1: Red Rooves were filmed in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.
Photo 2: The Wall of Nördlingen.
Photo 3: Kaiserhof Hotel Sonne
Photo 4: Rain in Wassertrüdingen
Photo 5: Reflections in the water of Wassertrüdingen

• Dinkelsbuhl–the church, St. Georges Minster, the ornate carvings and artwork and the bejewelled skeleton of a martyr executed by Emperor Nero on display. And…that day, Goths and Emos aplenty.


[Photos 6 & 7: Dinkelsbuhl © L.M. Kling 2014]

Photo 6: St. Georges Minster
Photo 7: Segringer Tor

• Rothenburg ob der Tauber where we enjoyed the delicious sweet pastry as well as the beautiful sunny day that showed off its cobblestone roads and medieval buildings at its best.


[Photos 8 & 9: Rothenburg ob der Tauber (c) L.M. Kling 2014]

Photo 8: Sweet Treats
Photo 9: Typical Rothenburg Street
Photo 10: Rothenburg ob der Tauber most popular

Challenges of the Romantic Road:


• Too many tourists especially at Füssen on the Saturday we visited, caused us to be trapped in a massive traffic jam that held us in a virtual carpark for an hour.
• So many tourists at Neuschwanstein (Mad Ludwig’s Castle). If we’d attempted to buy a ticket, we would have waited four and a half hours or more to enter the castle!
• Traffic jams and rain, both especially heavy that particular Saturday in August.

[Photos 11 & 12: Neuschwanstein and surrounds © L.M. Kling 2014]

Photo 11: Neuschwanstein with Schloss Hohenschwagau in foreground
Photo 12: Schwansee

    We took a break from the Romantic Road one day to visit my relatives. Tomina had trouble with the “dud” roundabout, so we ended up travelling the “scenic route” through the back way off the motorway through corn fields and behind slow tractors. The hour’s trip took two hours, but once we arrived, we had a wonderful day.
    Back in our apartment in Burgau we had no internet. I think Hubby coped…although to be honest, he was grumpy at times. I guess there’s something to be said to slow down to the pace of snail mail and send postcards as folk did over 100 years ago…especially when there’s no internet.

    © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2020; updated 2022; 2024
    Feature Postcard: Ulm © 1905

    Postcard Front: Ulm, Bayern
    Postcard Back


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