T-Team the Younger Series–Rain in Chambers Gorge

November 14, 2021November 15, 2021 / lmkling / 1 Comment

Rain

[Unusually cold and rainy for November here in Adelaide. Reminds me of the younger of the T-Team with roughin’ it on their minds, exploring the Flinders Ranges; their sights set on Chambers Gorge…]

The rain followed the ants and began pelting down on the car roof.

‘Get to higher ground.’ Barney thumped his thighs. ‘Argh! An ant!’

‘Remember our friends from church?’ I said. ‘They got caught in a flood in the Flinders.’

*[Photo 1: Just not Cricket…or even threatening rain in Parachilna Gorge © L.M. Kling 2000]*

Barney nodded and nudged my brother. ‘Yeah, remember?’

‘It’s like raining cats and dogs—and all those ants. We’ll be caught in the flood if you don’t do something.’ Doris slapped her arm. ‘Yuk! Another one! They’ve invaded the car. Get a torch!’

Barney handed Doris a torch. My brother fired up the engine.

‘Where are they?’ Doris cried. Beams of light from the torch bounced around the cabin.

‘Get that light off!’ my brother said. ‘I’m trying to drive.’

‘I have to find the ants.’

‘You want me to get to higher ground?’

*[Photo 2: You mean high like this? Mt Ohlsen Bagge © L.M. Kling 2007]*

‘Oh, al-right!’ Doris snapped and extinguished the torch light.

My brother manoeuvred the car around and then retraced the track to the previous campsite which had been on higher ground.

As my brother leapt from the car, Doris said, ‘I hope there’s no ants.’

My brother took the torch from Doris. ‘I’ll see, then.’

‘You reckoned this site had ants,’ Doris said. ‘You reckoned we had to move because of ants. I’m not getting out if there’s ants.’

Using both the torch and the car’s head lights, my brother inspected the ground. ‘Nup, no ants.’

Rain hammered the roof and my brother’s image blurred with the rain.

*[Photo 3: There are several reasons to refuse to get out of the car when it is raining; one being you get wet. Melrose Campsite © L.M. Kling 2005]*

‘Don’t believe you,’ Doris murmured. ‘Anyway, it’s raining, I’m staying in the car.’

‘Are we high enough? Barney asked. ‘I don’t want us getting flushed down Chambers Gorge.’

‘Ha! Ha! Very funny,’ I said.

‘I’m serious,’ Barney said.

‘Yep, we went up a bit,’ my brother said. ‘We’re above the creek, now.’

‘Don’t trust you, get higher,’ Doris said. ‘I don’t want to be washed away.’

My brother mumbled, ‘Like that’ll happen.’ Then he sighed, ‘Oh, alright, if you insist.’ He revved up the car and mounted another small slope and then settled on a hill.

No one dared move from the car as the rain steadily fell and the fear of inch-ants crawling up and over our sleeping bodies. Plus, the bother of putting up the tent in the rain, kept us locked in the car all night. We made the best of sleeping sitting upright for another night.

***

[Photo 4: Rain-filled creek in Chambers Gorge © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1984]

Morning, we woke to blue skies and the creek transformed into a luxurious chain of ponds. Birds, big black ones called “butcher birds”, galahs, and parrots, converged on the edges of marsh. They searched for fish, poking around the lily pads scattered like floating pebbles on the water’s surface. White cockatoos congregated and chattered in the gum trees with leaves glistening in the early morning sun, washed clean by the rain.

*[Photo 5: Taking a dip in Chambers Gorge creek © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1984]*

Doris and I took the opportunity to take a dip in a nearby pool. I marvelled how this rain made reeds spring up overnight. ‘They weren’t there yesterday, I’m sure,’ I said.

‘Wow! All that rain, and we didn’t get washed away,’ Doris said.

‘No, we didn’t,’ I replied. ‘No, we didn’t.’

[to be continued…]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2019; update 2021

Feature Photo: After Rain in the Flinders Ranges © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 2005

***

Want more but too expensive to travel down under? Why not take a virtual travel with the T-Team Adventures in Australia?

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

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T-Team the Younger Series–Ants

November 7, 2021 / lmkling / Leave a comment

Ants

[A mild spring with some happy warm days interspersed with bouts of thunderstorms and heavy rain. And the ants making me hop and dance when out in the garden. A reminder of the younger of the T-Team with roughin’ it on their minds, venture closer to home and into the Flinders Ranges; their sights set on Chambers Gorge…But never in their wildest dreams did they expect these little, or not so little, crawly things, ants, to spoil their first night camping in the Flinders Ranges…]

By mid-morning, and a half-a-dozen or so beers later for Barney, my brother chauffeured us on the rough road to Chambers Gorge.

‘Are you sure you know where we’re going?’ Doris asked.

‘Sure I do,’ my brother said. ‘I’ve been there before.’

We bounced over the gravel road and its abundant potholes. Then came the roller-coaster—up and down, almost flying and then stomachs thudding to the floor in the dips.

*[Photo 1: Rolling Roads in the Flinders Ranges…and less rough © L.M. Kling 2007]*

‘Stop!’ Barney groaned. ‘I’m going to be sick.’

‘Oh, no!’ Doris and I cried.

‘Stop the—’ Barney gurgled, and he leaned forward, his hand cupped over his mouth.

My brother slammed on the brakes and stopped the car in the middle of the road. Too late! Liquid breakfast splattered every corner of the car’s interior.

We spent the next half an hour using dampened beach towels to flush out the worst of the mess, and then the next few hours driving to Chambers Gorge, doing our best to ignore the smell—windows open, nostrils filling with bull dust in preference to the smell.

‘I feel sick,’ Doris said.

My brother stopped the car and we all jumped out.

Doris leaned over a salt bush and then stood up. ‘Nah, it’s okay.’

‘Better safe than sorry,’ my brother said. ‘We don’t want another accident.’

*[Photo 2: Emus along the way © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1984]*

So without a map, my brother found Chambers Gorge. We lumbered along the rugged road that followed the dry creek bed.

‘Where’s the water?’ Doris asked.

‘All underground, unless it rains,’ my brother said.

We glanced left and right, sighting tents and camper vans. Four o’clock and already all the best campsites had been taken. We ventured further into the gorge crawling along the creek bed of boulders. The rocky slopes of the low hills that defined Chambers Gorge were shrouded in grey tones of an over-cast sky.

I pointed to a clearing. ‘What about here?’

‘Too small,’ my brother said.

Doris indicated a site near a clump of twisted gum trees. ‘Hey, what about one over there?’

‘Nup, where would we park?’

‘There’s a spot,’ Barney said.

‘And how am I going to get up there?’

‘We have to camp somewhere, or we’ll be cooking tea in the dark,’ I said.

‘I don’t feel so well,’ Barney said. ‘I have a headache.’

‘You shouldn’t’ve had so many beers for breakfast,’ Doris snapped.

My brother stopped the car. ‘Here will do.’

We climbed out of the car and inspected the mound of gravel no larger than a small bedroom.

‘Bit small,’ Barney said.

‘You reckon you can find somewhere better?’ my brother answered.

‘Nah, I guess it’ll be alright.’

*[Photo 3: Camping © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1984]*

My brother and Barney unpacked the car and then set up Barney’s tent. Then my brother pumped up his blow-up mattress—no tent for him, he preferred to sleep under the stars. So did I. A billion-star accommodation for me. I persuaded Doris to also sleep under the stars. One problem, clouds covered our star-studded view.

Doris and I searched for firewood.

‘Seems like Chambers Gorge is well picked over,’ Doris remarked.

‘It’s like Rundle Mall,’ I replied. ‘Won’t be coming here again. Too many people.’

We found a few sticks, just enough for a fire to cook our canned spaghetti for tea. For dessert, we ate fruit cake.

*[Photo 4: Stories behind the Campfire © L.M. Kling 2015]*

As our thoughts drifted to bed and enjoying sleep under clouds as it seemed tonight, my brother said, ‘Oh, er, I did a bit of exploring. Found a better camping spot. Bigger, near a waterhole.’

‘Really?’ Doris sighed.

‘Can’t we just stay here?’ Barney asked.

My brother stroked the red mound upon which we sat. ‘Could be an ant hill.’

So again, we followed my brother’s leading, packed up and piled into the car. Once again, we crawled to my brother’s El Dorado of campsites.

There, in the dark, we set up our bedding. Barney abandoned the idea of a tent and settled down, content with the cloudy canopy to cover him like the rest of us.

*[Photo 5: We dreamed of the next day dancing in the bush © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1984]*

As I began pumping up my mattress—Plop! I looked up. Another plop.

‘O-oh, rain,’ I said.

‘Nah, probably amount to nothing.’ My brother shrugged and continued to blow up his mattress.

Doris sat on a small mound and watched us. Rick promised to pump up all our mattresses.

‘Ugh!’ Doris cried and then slapped her thigh.

‘What?’ I asked.

‘An ant!’

‘What do you mean, an ant?’

‘An ant bit me.’

‘What? Through jeans?’

‘Yeah, it was a big one—ugh! There’s another one,’ Doris jumped up, ‘and another.’

Doris danced and slapped herself.

Rick shone a torch where Doris did her “River Dance”.

‘Holy crud!’ Barney said, his eyes wide. ‘The place is full of them.’

*[Photo 6: A honey ant; best I could find © S.O. Gross circa 1950]*

Ants, two and a half centimetres long and called “Inch Ants”, swarmed the ground, their pincers snapping. They streamed from a hole on the mound where Doris had been sitting, ants multiplying and invading our clearing.

We scrambled to the car and threw ourselves in. Doris and I sat in the back, Barney and my brother in the front.

‘Looks like we’ll be camping in the car tonight,’ I grumbled.

[to be continued…]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2019

Feature Photo: White Ant Hills © S.O. Gross circa 1946

***

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T-Team (the younger) Series–Chambers Gorge

October 31, 2021 / lmkling / 1 Comment

The Road-Trip of No Destination

[Watched the first two of the Mad Max series, lately. Memories of the younger of the T-Team (my brother and me with a couple of friends) surfaced. We piled into my brother’s Chrysler Charger or whatever, and with roughin’ it on our minds, we travel up north of Adelaide to the Flinders Ranges; our sights set on Chambers Gorge…]

Back in the mid-1980’s my brother rarely used a map, not a map I could see. The Adelaide Street Directory, all faded and lying on the back seat under the stiff-from-salt-beach towels, doesn’t cover way-out country areas such as the Flinders Ranges.

*[Photo 1: A street directory much like this one, courtesy of L.M. Kling]*

Every Easter, commencing Maundy Thursday, we’d pile into my brother’s latest Chrysler charger or whatever, and roll along to the car stereo-cassette player blasting out local South Australian band Red Gum. Up Port Wakefield Road we’d go, and if we were fortunate enough not the break down there, as one tends to do on Port Wakefield Road, we’d sally on forth to the Flinders Ranges, about four hundred kilometres north of Adelaide.

*[Photo 2: Classic view of the Flinders Ranges from the highway © L.M. Kling 1999]*

We’d start our journey late, usually after nine at night, as some of my brother’s friends had work and had to eat dinner, then finally pack before they were ready to leave.

*[Photo 3: We probably took the trip in my brother’s red Chrysler Charger © courtesy of L.M. Kling]*

One time, my brother and I took friends Barney and Doris (not their real names) on a planned trip to Chambers Gorge, situated in the north-eastern part of the Flinders Ranges. We must’ve left closer to midnight, and my brother and Barney shared the driving through the night. Dirt roads at that time, caused the driving to slow and by the time we neared our destination in the Flinders, the watery blue sky of dawn crept over low hills in the east. In the back seat, Doris and I rested our heads on our bags and slept, while my brother willed himself to keep awake rocking to British band, Dire Straits. There was a short stop as he then, too weary, swapped with Barney.

*[Photo 4: Sunrise in the Flinders Ranges © C.D. Trudinger 1981]*

Doris and I kept on sleeping.

Then…Bang! The car skidded to a halt.

We spilled out of the car. I rubbed my eyes and looked around. The sun peeped over the horizon of flat desert plains, mountains to the west, jutted like pimples on the edge, still dark, untouched by the sun.

My brother checked the front of the car. ‘It’s all right, no damage. The bull bar took the brunt.’

Barney sauntered down the road, and then returned to us. ‘We hit a roo,’ he said.

‘So, we’ll have roo for breakfast?’ I asked, half-joking.

‘Why not? I’m hungry,’ Barney replied.

‘You can cook it, then,’ my brother said.

‘Okay.’

*[Photo 5: Kangaroos in Onkaparinga Gorge; the descendants of ones that avoided having unhappy encounters with cars © L.M. Kling 2019]*

So as the sun rose over the distant mountains capping the peaks in pink, we roasted the skinned roo-roadkill over the campfire. While we waited for the meat to cook, Barney swilled his breakfast beverage of choice—beer. My brother, a teetotaller and body builder, drank his concoction of protein powder mixed with water and raw egg. Doris and I boiled a billy of water and then brewed ourselves a cup of instant coffee and condensed milk.

Doris clutched her metal mug, then sipped her coffee and said, ‘Not sure about the kangaroo for breakfast.’

‘It’ll be alright,’ I said. ‘I’ve had kangaroo—not so bad. Although, not sure about eating after the way Barney’s cooked it. We fried it once like that on our Central Australian trip, and I had a terrible tummy ache and bad gas. Smelt like rotten eggs. My brother and his cousin had competitions rating the potency of their gas. They thought it was hilarious, but the stink was awful.’

Doris grimaced and put down her coffee mug. ‘I don’t want to know.’

‘You won’t have any choice when we’re stuck in the car driving to Chambers Gorge.’

‘Speaking of Chambers Gorge, where is it from here?’

‘Haven’t a clue. I guess my brother will just keep on driving until we see a sign to Chambers Gorge.’

‘Oh.’

Barney called, ‘Roo’s ready.’

Doris and I trooped over to the campfire and inspected Barney’s efforts. Barney waved away the smoke to reveal bone and sinew reduced to charcoal.

Doris screwed up her nose and said, ‘I’ll pass.’

‘Me too.’ I grimaced. ‘I don’t fancy the after-effects from that.’

‘Aw, bit over-cooked, but charcoal’s good for you,’ Barney said. He took a few bites and then frowned as he forced the hardened lumps of gristle down.

Barney then took the remnants of the roo behind a bush and gave the poor animal a good Christian burial in a shallow grave.

*[Photo 7: Then onto Chambers Gorge © L.M. Kling 1985]*

[to be continued…]

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

Photo: Lee-Anne on a Limb, Flinders Ranges © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 1984

***

Want more but too expensive or unable to travel down under? Why not take a virtual journey with the T-Team Adventures in Australia?

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T-Team Series–Base of Mt. Liebig

October 20, 2021 / lmkling / 1 Comment

[While three of the T-Team faced the perils of climbing Mt. Liebig, a drama of a different, yet equally challenging kind unfolded for Mr. B and his son, Matt as they stayed back at camp.

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

Bull Meets Mr. B

Mr B and his son, Matt napped under the shade of a bean tree. A southerly breeze ferried through the dry creek bed, spiriting away the father’s snorts. Matt tossed and turned on his inflatable mattress that was exhausted of air resulting from a small, elusive puncture. He imagined the three others of the T-Team, beating a path through the sweltering heat and stinging spinifex in their quest to the summit of Mt. Liebig. Matt chuckled to himself. “Suckers!”

*[Photo 1: Mt Liebig at sunrise with bean tree © C.D. Trudinger 1977]*

In a nearby tributary, a bull spied the T-Team’s father, son and daughter trekking in the distance, and stamped its massive hooves in the loose dry sand. Once the family had vanished, the bull trotted towards his stamping ground which possessed a gigantic bean tree as a feature in an otherwise dull bed of dust. His quest was to reclaim his territory that the humans had invaded.

“Matt, ma boy, do be careful. Don’t go too far from camp. A bull might get you.” Mr. B squinted in the direction of distant thumping, then rolled over and resumed snoring.

A monstrous brown hulk loomed through a cloud of dust.

*[Photo 2: Resident cattle © L.M. Kling 2013]*

Matt bolted upright “Dad! Dad! Th-there’s a big- ugly- brown – ugly- big – brown – ugly – b-b-bull!”

“Aw, Matt, stop kidding me.” Mr. B blinked and rubbed his eyes. “That’s enough of the jokes.” A short rumble from behind sent him scrambling to his feet. He flailed his arms while galloping. “Quick! Into the Rover. Now!”

“But Dad!” In the sweltering heat and moment, the boy froze, glued to his air mattress under the bean tree. Terrified, he witnessed his Dad bound over the dirt and fly into the empty Rover parking space and onto a thicket of spinifex. Matt winced. The massif of angry brown trod closer. It paused, pawing the ground, taunting its human prey.

*[Photo 3: Cattle Yard © S.O. Gross circa 1950]*

After rubbing his punctured behind, Mr. B scrambled for the tarpaulin and rummaged through the baggage. “Er, d-don’t worry Matt. I-I’ll charge this bull before it s-sh-shoots — er — us.”

“But, Dad, the bull doesn’t have a gun.”

“Well, neither do we, we’ll just have to be satisfied with this boomerang and spear, till I find the damn gun.”

The bull stalked, narrowing the gap. The son clambered up the tree and gasped as his father fought with a rucksack that had entangled his legs, while he waved the pathetic weapons above his head.

[Photo 4: The bull that didn’t get away © S.O. Gross circa 1950]

“But Dad, they’re only souvenirs.”

“Why Matt, how can you say such a thing? Where do you think these genuine Australian artefacts are made?” With all his effort, Mr. B thrust the spear at the beast.

“Yes, Dad, sold in Australia, but made in Japan.” Matt watched as the menacing bulk of fury stomped the ground, dust billowing into a cloud around it. “Too bad the bull doesn’t know the difference.”

“Don’t be sarcastic at a time of crisis, son.” Mr. B flung the boomerang at the charging bull and ducked behind the tucker box. The projectile bounced off the bull’s hide, provoking it into a tumult of frenzy. Grunting like an eight-cylinder engine, he stormed towards its human attacker, screeching to a halt at the edge of the tarpaulin. As the bull glared down at him, Mr. B could smell its leathery breath.

*[Photo 5: Meanwhile, Mt. Liebig in afternoon and more generous ghost gum © S.O. Gross circa 1946]*

With a nervous smile fixed on his face, the father edged his way to the bean tree and climbed aboard. The bull stomped and snorted around the sacred bean tree while its victims trembled in the lofty branches amongst the beans.

From this vantage point, Mr. B spotted the rifle leaning up against the tucker box. Unfortunately, the bull sat between him in the tree and the tucker box.

Hours passed.

Father and son sat in the tree.

“Dad my bottom hurts,” Matt whined.

Mr. B sighed, “The others’ll be back soon. They have a rifle.”

“But Dad! I have to go!”

“Hold on,” Mr. B snapped. Then, he spotted the missing rifle, its metal shining on the churned sand.

The sun edged to the horizon.

Mr. B bit his lip wondering if he’d be stuck up this tree forever.

“Dad! I really have to!”

Mr. B turned to his son who was now rocking.

The distant hum rang through the golden landscape. Mr. B adjusted his grip on the branch.

The hum became louder. An engine.

The bull rose and sauntered out of the campsite, then disappeared into the bush.

“Just wait, Matt,” Mr. B said. He scrambled down the tree and grabbed the rifle.

Matt’s voice floated down. “Dad, it’s too late.”

As the sun disappeared below the horizon, the rest of the T-Team returned to find Mr. B clutching a rifle and pacing the clearing. Matt remained lodged high up in the bean tree.

“As you can see, while you’ve been climbing your mountain, we’ve had a not-so-welcome visitor,” Mr. B remarked.

*[Photo 6: Mt. Liebig at sunset © C.D. Trudinger 1981]*

“Somehow, I think the B-family will be taking a guided bus tour next time they go for a holiday,” I muttered to Rick.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2019

Feature Painting: Mt. Liebig in watercolour © L.M. Kling 2017

***

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Alice to Adelaide (2.2) — Coober Pedy

October 5, 2021October 8, 2021 / lmkling / 1 Comment

Chaos in the Can at Coober Pedy

[Mission to scatter Dad’s ashes in central Australia accomplished, the T-Team Next Generation commenced their journey back down south to Adelaide. Toilet stops were an essential part of the trip. A fact that these conveniences, even in this modern age, sometimes fail to appreciate…And the users too failed to appreciate, thus no mugshots of the “can” in question…

So, in lieu of that particular “robot” model, I have hunted down and flushed out (from my photo collection) an assortment of true blue Aussie dunnies from my travels…through life…]

We settled down at a picnic table near the automated toilets. Anthony prepared the sandwiches while I dashed into the “robot” dunny to do my deed.

*Photo 1a: This is a distant cousin of the likely suspect (not at Coober Pedy, though).© L.M. Kling 2016*

*1b:View of Adelaide Beach coast from Marino rocks with the automated loo © L.M. Kling 2016*

While I sat on the tin throne, county and western come Hawaiian music clanged away. Did I detect a banjo while the toilet roll unfurled itself for me? No button to flush. Oh, well. Once I washed my hands, the toilet duly flushed. Then, I placed my hands under the air-dryer. As usual, I am invisible to this universe, and the cohort of air-dryers that belong to it. Air-dryer refused to acknowledge me and blow air on my wet hands. Oh, well, I’ll dry my hands with my own towel from the car that exists quite happily in my universe.

*Photo 2: More traditional pair, in the open air, now, in our back yard as planters © L.M. Kling 2016*

I step to the sliding door and press the large blue button. The music volume increased. But the doors did not oblige. I pressed the blue button again. Nothing. Just the demented music. Becoming more demented.

*Photo 3: Am beginning to prefer the long drop at Ocean Beach Tasmania (note the al fresco wash basin) © L.M. Kling 2016*

I read the instructions. And pressed the blue button again.

Nothing

I hit the button.

Kicked the door.

I sat down by the stubborn non-sliding door.

Photo 4: Generational memories from Mum when she lived in Hermannsburg of waiting for her dad to finish and door to open…Meanwhile she danced around the little house…waiting…This photo, a T-Team, next Generation reenactment © L.M. Kling 2013

And waited.

Instructions said I must vacate this automated locked-down establishment in ten minutes. As if to press its point the “robot” toilet increased the annoyance level of the music.

What’s worse, I had entered this pongy prison without my mobile phone. Or jumper. It was cold in there.

*Photo 5: That little house in the Hermannsburg Precinct is now itself imprisoned, although Anthony did wait…and reenact the T-Team Next Gen dance*.© L.M. Kling 2021

Anthony called from the outside. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I’m trapped,’ I replied. ‘The toilet won’t open.’

‘Have you tried to push the button?’

‘Yes, a million times.’

‘Well, you must’ve done something wrong.’

I noted that the blue button had written on it “touch free” and then I figured, That’s why the toilet’s incarcerated me. Touching it must’ve broken its rules. ‘Has it been ten minutes yet?’

‘Not yet.’

Photo 6: Dreaming of the simple life when a bush will do. But be careful where you aim such camera shots. Apparently, I just missed Mrs T who had to find said “bush”. She appeared from behind a bush after I took this lovely photo of typical Central Australian bush land. She was not amused. © L.M. Kling 2013

Then, the blue button which I’m meant to push for my release from this demented can, the button that has “touch free” displayed on it, lit up and vibrated. But the door refused to budge.

I pushed the door. No joy. It stayed locked and the not-so-ambient music went on and on like some crazy organ-grinder.

I was starting to imagine some security guy in some dug-out office in the middle of Coober Pedy laughing at this old jailbird (me)…when…

*Photo 7: Jail cell Port Arthur (equipped with the bucket for use in the corner) © L.M. Kling 2009*

A voice from above warned, ‘You have exceeded your stay, you must exit immediately.’

‘Not that I haven’t wanted to,’ I snapped back. Pushed the vibrating bright button, yet again. Pulled the door. Still stubborn as.

‘You have exceeded your stay. You must exit immediately.’ Followed by the crazy music.

I rolled my eyes. ‘I wish.’

*Photo 8: Dreaming of freedom. The painted facilities of Sellicks Beach © L.M. Kling 2013*

Watched the door. Hoping. Praying it would open.

‘You have exceeded your stay. You must exit immediately.’

I waited and watched. ‘You might need to call the police or emergency services to release me,’ I told Anthony.

As if it heard my warning to call the authorities, the door slid open. I leapt out. ‘Yay! I’m free! I’m free!’ I jumped and danced in front of a rather unimpressed husband. ‘I’m never going to in one of those things again! I thought it was never going to open!’

*Photo 9: Ah! Freedom at last! Loo with a view, Rawnsley Park, Flinders Ranges, South Australia There is an actual toilet block. This is the view that greets you upon your exit. © L.M. Kling 2007*

‘Come on, let’s have lunch,’ Anthony snipped, ‘We’ve already wasted twenty-five minutes.’

‘Not before I get my jumper, I’m freezing. You don’t know how cold it was in there. I’m never going into a toilet without my mobile phone or a jumper. Ever.’

As we munched on our sandwiches, a brisk wind chilled us to the bone, even with an extra layer of clothing on. A little indigenous boy scampered into the evil “robot’ toilet. Less than a minute later, he exited. Anthony, then went into the same crazy “can” and was out in two minutes.

‘How did you do that?’ I asked.

Anthony replied smugly, ‘I pressed the blue button.’

‘So did I, a dozen times.’

‘You must’ve done something wrong.’

‘Just my luck I had to be incarcerated by the toilet.’

Photo 10:Have been sticking to more traditional, low tech loos ever since. Seacliff Loo with the view, Adelaide beachfront South Australia *© L.M. Kling* *October 5, 2021*

So, out on parole from the Cooper Pedy “can”, we escaped this town and headed for Woomera.

[to be continued…]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2021

Feature Photo: Let me out! Our History Teacher Jailed in Burra Mines © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1980

***

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T-Team Next Gen–Alice to Adelaide (2)

September 28, 2021September 28, 2021 / lmkling / 1 Comment

[In 2013, the T-Team, next generation embarked on their pilgrimage to Central Australia. Purpose: to scatter Dad’s ashes in his beloved Central Australia, in Ormiston Gorge.

Over the past year, I have taken you on a virtual trip to the Centre and memories of that unforgettable holiday in 2013, with my brother and his family; the T-Team Next Generation.

This time, with the trip coming to a close, the T-K Team continue their return to Adelaide after camping at Marla for the night.]

The Trucks of Terror

Morning and the dawning realisation why this campsite may not have been popular. Anthony stomped around the tent grumbling.

‘I got no sleep last night,’ he snapped. ‘Kept getting woken up by those trucks rumbling all night. And their lights. Just as I drifted off to sleep. Those lights kept shining into our tent.’

‘Will you be alright to drive?’ I asked.

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ he sniffed. Anthony was a man after all and infallible.

We moved like snails packing up. I loaded the Ford’s rear with stuff. Next minute, Anthony was there unloading and repacking. Must do it right, even on the last leg of our journey.

*[Photo 1: While I waited, morning view from Marla campsite © L.M. Kling 2013]*

While he played his version of luggage-tetris, I wandered off to the BBQ hut to check for any forgotten items that might lurk there. And behold, sitting rather smugly in a rather obvious position on the bench next to the BBQ facilities, Anthony’s water bottle. You just have to wonder whether the water bottle had legs and hid when we were searching for it the previous night. Then, when it realised that it might be left behind, it positioned itself in the fail-safe position to be found. The water bottle is not the first item to “hide” from me and then “reappear” in a place where I have looked a dozen times before…

There was much rejoicing over the lost water bottle that was found.

Owing to Anthony’s meticulous care in packing, we were the last to leave the campsite.

As we travelled the long monotonous stretch, I slept a bit, wrote in my diary a bit, and then stared out the window at the red earth, gibber plains and twisted corkwood trees. I even filmed the landscape flitting past a bit.

*[Photo 2: Trees twisted on the gibber plains © L.M. Kling 2013]*

Anthony took my hand. ‘I’m sorry I was grumpy.’

‘That’s okay, blame it on the trucks that kept us awake all night.’

‘I swear that there was a truck that shone its lights straight into our tent.’

‘Yeah, it seemed that way,’ I replied. ‘Perhaps we can stay at Woomera in a cabin tonight and get a decent night’s sleep.’

‘Yeah, why not!’

Around two o’clock and the landscape evolved from flat, and stone scattered to low-lying hills pockmarked with what appeared to be giant rabbit holes. Signs warned visitors to beware of mine-shafts.

*[Photo 3: Mine-shaft-pitted mountains © M.E. Trudinger (nee Gross) 1956]*

‘Lunch at Coober Pedy?’ Anthony said.

‘Yes, but…first a toilet-stop.’

‘And where do you suggest?’ Anthony glanced at me and then gazed at the mineshaft littered hill face.

‘A service-station? Or a pub?’

‘And where’s the service-station?’

*[Photo 4: View over Coober Pedy, but where are the service stations in Coober Pedy? © R.M. Trudinger 1977]*

A tour of Coober Pedy yielded no service-stations that we could find. And He who wanted to save money and eat a picnic lunch was not willing to enter a pub for the loo in case it entrapped us into eating in there.

‘What about the playground and BBQ area where we had tea with the T-Team on the way up to Central Australia?’ Anthony suggested.

Bad suggestion…

But, at the time I agreed. Lunch and loo visit in one hit.

[to be continued…next time I contend with a psycho dunny…]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2021

Feature photo (below): Road Train at dawn near Marla ©L.M. Kling 2013

***

Virtual Travel Opportunity

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

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

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]

From the Backyard–Fur-Babies

September 20, 2021 / lmkling / 1 Comment

FURRY FELINE TALES (2)

While Mum is taking a holiday in the Barossa with her siblings, I will be cat-sitting her current fur-baby, Marnie.

But, before Marnie, there was Molly…

Molly

Dad sipped his cappuccino, and then licking his lips, he leaned over. ‘I have a mystery concerning Molly.’

A tram rattled past. How the three ladies in their designer clothes and ability to talk through their noses could hear their own conversation, I’ll never know. Maybe the nasal accent was just the right pitch to over-ride the rumbling of trams, and then added to the tram noise, the screaming of toddlers begging for their babycinos.

*[Photo 2: Glenelg foreshore © L.M. Kling 2010]

I waited for the tram to pass. Dad, in his mid-70’s didn’t have such a strong voice. And my hearing’s never been good. ‘What do you mean, Molly? What mystery?’

‘Er, um, I think she’s missing Mum.’

I gasped. ‘Oh, no! You haven’t lost her. Like Zorro. The last time, when Mum went to Sydney, New Year’s Eve 2000 with all the fireworks, Zorro got spooked. He’s never been seen since. You don’t have a good record when it comes to cats and Mum being away.’

‘Oh, no, no, no!’ Dad said. ‘I mean, she’s been sleeping in funny places. Just the other day I found her in my underwear drawer. She was sleeping so peacefully, I left her there.’

*[Photo 3: Strange places one finds cats. Storm, phantom of the bedcovers © L.M. Kling 2011]

‘How cute.’ I paused as another tram rumbled past. The ladies by the window exploded into laughter. When they quietened, I continued, ‘But you said she was missing.’

‘Oh, no, I mean, she’s…’ Dad coughed. Always does when he’s only telling the truth in part. ‘She’s…somewhere.’

‘How can you be sure? Maybe you left her out and she’s run away.’

‘Oh, no, no, no! I put food out for her at night. Inside. And in the morning, it’s gone. She’s eating it. She’s just hiding.’

‘I see.’

‘I mean, I think she’s just found a nice little place to sleep. Where I can’t find her.’

‘I guess.’ I scraped out the last frothy bits of my cappuccino. ‘I’ll have a look for her when I come tomorrow.’

The next day, after school, the boys and I rolled up the driveway, piled out and then entered through the back door of my parent’s old housing-trust home. While Mum’s away, I liked to visit Dad to make sure he was okay.

*[Photo 4: Mum holding another fur-baby © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1984]*

My sons raced off to the computer room but I lingered in the kitchen where I cleared away a day’s worth of coffee cups and stacked them on the sink.

‘Have you found Molly?’ I asked Dad.

‘No, but the food’s eaten. I think she’s hiding under the bed in the spare room, so I put the cat’s meat there and in the morning, again it was all gone.’

I followed Dad to the spare room to witness the evidence of an empty bowl with a few morsels of dried fish flakes remaining at the bottom.

I sniffed.

A nasty, festering sort of smell lingered in the air.

Calling my eldest, I decided we should start our Molly-search in the spare room. ‘Would you help me lift the bed-base?’

My son joined me in the small room. Two single beds, a dressing table and a large wardrobe crowded the room. We manoeuvred ourselves around one bed and lifted one end. No Molly.

‘What’s the stink?’ my son asked.

‘Not sure, but it doesn’t bode well.’ I remembered the dead mouse I’d found in that very same room, when I shifted to move to Melbourne. ‘Come on, I reckon Molly might be under the other bed.’

My son and I edged around the bed and taking hold of each side, we hoisted up one side of the base.

Molly crouched in the corner and snarled. Dried blood had matted her fur.

‘Mum! I can’t hold up the bed much longer.’

*[Photo 5: Molly enjoying her new home © L.M. Kling 2006]

Reaching, I gently lifted the tortoise shell-tabby from the furthest corner from under the raised bed-base. Around her neck and in the pit of her front leg, the fur had been rubbed away exposing a raw wound. Sticky ooze stained my sleeve.

My son put down the bed and dashed to the linen cupboard in the passageway, where he grabbed a towel. We wrapped puss up in the towel and stood in the passageway.

My younger son had extracted himself from his computer game and met us in the passage with Dad. ‘What’s wrong with her?’ he asked.

‘She’s been injured, that’s why she was hiding,’ I said.

Molly narrowed her eyes at Dad and growled.

‘Wasn’t me,’ Dad said. ‘The last time I saw her, she was fine.’

‘We have to take her to the vet,’ I said.

So swaddled in the towel like a newborn, and weak from her injury, Molly rode in my arms in the car without resistance.

*[Photo 6: Swaddled Storm—they really are fur-babies © L.M. Kling 2010]

At the vet, the nurse ushered us in to see the veterinary doctor without the obligatory wait. The vet-doctor, a fresh-faced man in his 30’s, unwrapped the towel from Molly.

‘Oh,’ he said with a grimace, ‘it looks like she got her collar stuck under her front leg. Must’ve been like that for a while.’

Dad blushed and coughed.

‘You didn’t notice?’ the vet-doctor said looking straight at Dad.

‘Yeah, well,’ Dad said as he shifted around the table, ‘my wife’s gone…’

The vet’s eyes widened with that look of pity. ‘Oh, I’m sorry—’

‘No, I mean, she’s gone to Sydney—on holiday.’

‘Oh.’

We all laughed.

‘Molly is my wife’s cat. And she took to hiding when my wife went away.’

*[Photo 7: All boxed up. Fur-baby Spike attempting to hide © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1984]

We’d found Molly just in time. The veterinary doctory treated her with antibiotics and a stay in the animal hospital. She made a full recovery.

Not sure that Dad ever fully recovered from the wrath of Mum when she returned from Sydney to discover he’d almost lost another cat in his care.

***

In Memory of Molly who lived to the respectable old (cat) age of 18.

As the Good Book, the Bible says in Matthew 6:26-27

“Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?”

***

Want more, but too impossible to travel down under? Why not take a virtual journey with the T-Team Adventures in Australia?

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

And escape in time and space to Central Australia 1981…

T-Team Series–Desert Oasis

September 13, 2021October 8, 2021 / lmkling / 3 Comments

Neales Creek

[Extract from Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981]

In the morning light, we beheld the beauty of Dad’s choice of a camping spot. Giant gum trees, reeds, and flowers surrounded a large jade-green pool, beckoning us to stay, enjoy, and explore. The mysteries and wonders of the place drew me to taste adventure before breakfast.

I hiked east, traversing the banks of the Neales River until I reached a fence. Hungry, I ambled back to camp, late for breakfast, but not for cold damper.

‘I honked the horn and called for you. Where were you?’ Dad snapped.

*[Photo 1: Back at camp. Algebuckina Bridge can be seen in background to the left.© L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1981]*

After my damper and jam, then washing dishes, I ventured west crossing the Algebuckina Bridge. The creek bed appeared all dried up; the water absorbed beneath the surface. Cracks inches wide marred the clay bed that had soaked up all the water. In the distance, I spied majestic eucalyptus trees and decided to reach that spot, before returning. No waterhole on this side.

*[Photo 2: Desert thirst © C.D. Trudinger 1992]*

I trekked along the sandy plain littered with spinifex bushes.
When I reached the clump of gums, I examined a shallow puddle of moss, sludge and fish.

On the opposite side of the ridge rose a steep cliff. I scrambled to see what wonders lay beyond. I mounted the hill, delighted with the sight of a deep waterhole, crystal green, stretching and winding, and disappearing behind a hill. Snap went my fingers; instamatic photos capturing this moment in Algebuckina’s history.

*[Photo 3: Capturing the waterhole © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1981]*

Then I bounded back to camp.

‘Dad, you should see the water-hole, it’s huge!’ I exclaimed.

Dad replied, ‘TR ventured past the fence east of our camp.’

‘Yeah,’ TR, our family friend said, ‘I discovered Neales Creek goes wider, deeper and runs for miles.’

*[Photo 4: Central Australian Watercourses from the air © L.M. Kling 2021]*

‘Where’re the fellas?’

‘Oh, the boys went on a shooting expedition.’

TR chuckled. ‘I bet they won’t catch anything.’

No sooner had he spoken than the lads returned with their heads down.

‘How did you go?’ Dad asked.

‘We remain animal-less,’ my older cousin, C1 said.

***

Virtual Travel Opportunity

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

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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]

T-Team Series–Outback Road Hazards

August 30, 2021August 30, 2021 / lmkling / 1 Comment

TAXED

Tuesday, September 8, 1981

[Extract from Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981]

As our personal car hunt takes a positive turn, Mum’s car, the one we are borrowing, suffers a devastating blow to its tyre—staked by a bolt. And so, I am reminded of the attack of the tacks as the T-Team drove the unsealed highway back to Adelaide almost 40 years ago…]

So for the first time in the entire two months of the Safari, Dad permitted my older cousin (C1) to drive. After reaching the South Australian border and the degradation of the road to dirt, he drove at a steady fifty-five kilometres per hour. Bull dust billowed on each side of the vehicle, and we kept the windows sealed.

*[Photo 1: Red Centre from the sky © L.M. Kling 2021]*

Richard sat in the middle and I sat on the passenger side nearest the window. My feet ached. Feeling faint with the heat magnified in the confined unventilated area, I peeled off my shoes and socks.

‘Pooh!’ Rich fanned his nose. ‘Do you have to?’

‘But it’s hot.’ I massaged my foot. ‘I can’t smell any foot odour.’

A smile grew between C1’s beard and moustache, then the cabin filled with fumes of sulphur dioxide.

‘Ugh!’ I exclaimed and then reached for the handle to wind down the window.

‘You can talk.’ C1 put a handkerchief to his nose. ‘When was the last time you washed your socks?’

‘Point taken,’ I gasped, and then picked up a book fanning the air to the back of the Rover causing my younger cousin (C2) to protest and Dad to cough.

*[Photo 2: The Unsealed Road © M.E. Trudinger (nee Gross) circa 1956]*

Ker-chunk! Ker-chunk! C1 eased the Rover to a shuddering stop.

I looked at the odometer. We’d travelled 180km from Alice Springs. ‘Oh, no! And we’ve only just left.’ I opened the door and dropped from the Rover.

Richard edged his way out and then paced around the vehicle. He bent down to inspect a back tyre. ‘We have a puncture.’

Dad and cousins piled out. Richard commenced his jacking up the Rover, and removing the tyre. He lifted the spare off the rear door of the Rover. He bounced it towards the axle, and then stopped.

He frowned and said, ‘The spare’s flat.’

While my brother repaired the puncture, we lingered by the roadside. Dad kicked the mound of graded dirt. C1 pulled out another book from his satchel and read. C2 stared at the long stretch of road, counting the cars that passed. I sat in a ditch and picked my nails. An hour passed. Richard continued working. He’d already used up two dud patches on the tube. The repairs seemed to be taking forever.

*[Photo 3: The timeless hazards of outback roads © M.E. Trudinger (nee Gross) 1956]*

‘Why don’t we have lunch?’ I said.

Dad, his hands in his pockets, shuffled over to Richard. ‘How long do you think you’ll be?’

Richard peeled off the third patch that didn’t take. ‘Oh, another half an hour.”

Half an hour times three. In real-time, one-and-a-half-hours.

Dad stroked his beard. ‘Yes, I think we’ll have lunch then.’

We gathered a few sticks together for a fire to boil the billy. With my cup of tea and cake, I deserted the group to sit under a shady mulga tree. Another half-hour dragged in the heat.

*[Photo 4: Man’s solution to outback breakdown when there is no auto Assistance anywhere in sight © S.O. Gross circa 1942]*

I returned to the men. They stood like statues in a semi-circle around Richard who now battled with a pump. No matter how hard or long he pumped, the tyre didn’t seem to be doing much.

Richard wiped drops of sweat from his temple and grunted. ‘Come on, you idiot, work!’ He resumed pushing the lever up and down, faster and faster. He stopped and checked the gauge. ‘Damn thing hasn’t moved.’ He kicked the pump. ‘Work!’

‘I don’t think that’ll help,’ Dad said.

‘The pump’s broken. The gauge hasn’t moved off twenty k-p-a.’

Dad kicked the tyre. ‘Is that enough?’

‘I s’pose it’ll have to do.’

Richard shook his head. He placed the half-inflated tyre on the Rover’s back axle, and then tightened the nuts.

*[Photo 5: A more reliable mode of transport??? © S.O. Gross circa 1942]*

C1 resumed his driver’s position with Richard and C2 in the front. I put up with Dad and the dust in the back cabin. My father decided to manicure his nails with his teeth. Drove me insane! Every few seconds, he puffed out a bitten nail onto the floor, the luggage, and the dirty laundry pile. I looked away as his nibbled his nail stumps, but the spitting sound grated on my senses setting my teeth on edge. I placed a pillow over my ears and rested my head on a soft bag. I began to doze.

Thudda! Thudda! Thudda!

The Rover rocked and jerked to a juddering halt. Again we piled out. This time a trailer tyre had been ripped to shreds. Bits of the tyre left a sorry trail down the highway.

*[Photo 6: History repeats itself © L.M. Kling 2013]*

Dad poked his toe at a fragment of rubber. ‘How did that happen?’

‘The rocks,’ Richard replied. Then removing the spare trailer tyre, he bounced it into position.

Again, we stood around and watched Richard change the tyre. Again, we piled back in the Rover and continued our journey. And yet again I had to sit in the rear of the Rover with Dad.

This time, Dad nodded off to sleep and snored. Richard who was driving, had barely driven ten minutes before Dad had fallen asleep. I watched Dad’s head loll from side to side, and with a snort, he’d jerk his head up, and then his head flopped followed by a deep rumble. Again, I covered my ears with a pillow and rested on my soft bag.

The rumbles penetrated my pillow. They grew louder and louder, sounding like an earthquake. I sat up and looked around. Dad wide-eyed and awake stared at me. The rumbling turned into a loud roar.

*[Photo 7: The perils of the gibber plain © L.M. King 2013]*

‘So, it wasn’t you snoring,’ Dad said.

‘I thought it was you.’ My voice vibrated with the jack-hammer effect. ‘Is it the corrugations?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Dad sounded like a Dalek. He leaned through the window connected to the front. ‘Richard, I think you better stop.’

‘Not again,’ I groaned.

[to be continued…]

***

Virtual Travel Opportunity

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

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

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]

He Wanted us to Know God’s Love

August 23, 2021 / lmkling / 1 Comment

In Memory and celebration of my father’s life…

Remembering his passing 9 years ago this week…

DAVID BY NAME CLEMENT BY NATURE

Ron and Lina Trudinger’s third child was born in Adelaide on January 13, 1928. His parents named him Clement David Trudinger. He was a much longed for child as he arrived eight years after his older sister, Agnes.

*[Photo 1: Growing family with Clement David baby no. 3 © courtesy C.D. Trudinger collection circa 1928]*

“Clement?” his aunts cried. “We don’t like the name Clement.”

So they called the babe by his second name, David, and David he has been ever since. Except, of course when he goes to hospital, then he’s Clement, officially.

Throughout his life, God watched over David who has shared many stories of how he showed His love towards him, protecting, and providing for him and his family. He shared how he felt he didn’t deserve God’s love; he wasn’t perfect, yet God loved him. It is this love that David would want all of you to know.

*[Photo 2: David, the boy © courtesy C.D. Trudinger collection circa 1930]*

He began to write down his life-story, and in the last few weeks began to tell all, especially his grandchildren, how God worked in his life and how his Heavenly Father protected him.

When he was two years old, his missionary parents took David and his younger brother Paul to Sudan, in Africa. Not the kind of place to take small children. But God protected David and his brother from a hippopotamus, cobras, car accidents, and mad men. (He’s written in more detail about these incidents and I will share these in the future.)

*[Photo 3: David and his brother on the Nile © courtesy C.D. Trudinger collection 1932]*

God also blessed him with a loving and God-fearing family. Some may say, too God-fearing, for his parents continued their mission work in Sudan while David from the age of seven, and Paul from five, commenced their schooling in Adelaide. As a student, David only saw his parents every five years when they returned home on furlough. He shared how despite missing his parents, he enjoyed his childhood, with so many aunts doting on him, and the game afternoons they had. I think his love of games started there in the Northumberland Street parlour. He’d even created a few games in his latter years.

*[Photo 4: With siblings in Adelaide © courtesy C.D. Trudinger collection 1940]*

His other great love was sport, especially football. God blessed David with fitness, agility, and a few trophies along the way. In retirement, he played golf, and when his legs couldn’t keep up trekking the 18 holes, he took up table tennis instead. He was still playing table tennis up until a few months ago. Sport kept his body and mind young.

David also enjoyed hiking and exploring. During school holidays he’d visit his older brother Ron, a teacher at Ernabella. While there, he made friends with the Pitjantjatjara children and go into the Musgrave Ranges on hiking expeditions. One hot day, David and a friend became lost in the ranges without water, or salt. They wandered for hours parched and at the point of dehydration, before coming across a waterhole, the most welcome sight David had ever seen. I’m sure God protected and guided them back home. I’m also sure that’s when David’s love of salt began.

*[Photo 5: Younger Brothers in Ernabella © courtesy C.D. Trudinger collection circa 1940]*

David progressed through his schooling, and gifted in art, he trained to be an art and woodwork teacher. After a couple of years at Lameroo, he won a position at Hermannsburg Mission as headmaster.

He taught at Hermannsburg for five years. In that time, he became close to the Aranda people, especially the students he taught. They took him on expeditions into the MacDonnell Ranges, Palm Valley, and gorges and beauty spots along the Finke River. David also became close to Pastor Gross’ daughter, Marie.

*[Photo 6: Teacher in Hermannsburg (David far right)* *© S.O. Gross circa 1955]*

On January 23, 1958, he married Marie in Hermannsburg.

However, his romance with Central Australia was cut short, when, for health reasons, he and Marie had to move down to Adelaide. On October 30, his first child, Richard was born.

David continued teaching, first at Ridley Grove Primary School, and then St. Leonards P.S. The little Trudinger family moved from schoolhouse to schoolhouse.

May 3, 1963, his daughter, Lee-Anne was born. By this time, Glenelg Primary School planned to convert their little rented home into a library. As his family grew and Marie grew more unsettled with the constant shifting, David faced the challenge to buy a house. But how could he on a teacher’s wage? He looked at his lovely stamp collection of rare Sudanese stamps. Could he trade them in to help pay for a deposit?

*[Photo 7: David and Marie’s first own home © L.M. KLing 2005]*

They looked at a few homes. A bungalow on Cross Road appealed to him, but not Marie. His father wasn’t impressed either. Marie didn’t like that pokey little home on the main road with no back yard at all and the property was right next to the rail line. Then a trust home at Gilbert Road Somerton Park came up for sale, and the deal was done. David regretted selling his stamp collection but reasoned that this was an investment for the children. And, many years down the track, it was, especially with the two lovely court yard homes, one of which David and Marie have lived in from 2006.

*[Photo 8: New and improved courtyard home © L.M. King 2021]*

God blessed David’s career. He taught at Port Adelaide Primary School from the late 1960’s until he retired in 1985 at the age of 57. In that time he studied to teach Indonesian, became Deputy Principal, and won a government research grant to go to Indonesia. He became interested in the Indonesian musical instrument, the Anklung. He brought a set home and proceeded to teach pupils how to play. He had bands of students playing in the Festival of Music until 2010. He continued to visit the school now LeFever Primary and train students to play the Anklung, right up till the beginning of this year. He also tutored indigenous students.

David lived life to the full and grasped every opportunity to explore the wild and untouched land God has created, especially Central Australia. With his long service leave, and then time in his early retirement, he made regular pilgrimages to the Centre. And God protected him. I like to think that now he is with the Lord, his guardian angel is enjoying a well-deserved rest.

*[Photo 9: Dad having a well-deserved Sunday afternoon rest © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1983]*

One example he gave of God’s protection was on a hiking trip in the Western Wilderness of Tasmania with a friend. On one narrow path climbing around a cliff-face, he felt his heavy pack over-balance and he began to fall. “This is it,” he thought. Then he felt the pressure of someone pushing him back against the rock and he was able to step two metres further to a wider path. He knew an angel of the Lord rescued him, preserving his life, not just for his sake, but for his friend’s sake, and also because his work on earth was not complete.

*[Photo 10: Cradle Mountain, Tasmania © L.M. Kling 2009]*

But on August 25, 2012, David’s work on earth was done. There are probably many things he has done that will be remembered as a blessing and encouragement to all who knew him. He was a regular member of Faith Lutheran Warradale church; he took an active role, and was a vital member of the congregation for over 54 years. He was a Sunday School teacher, an elder, and a Bible Study leader.

We will miss his cheerful nature, how he grasped life, lived it to the full and shared God’s love with all he came across.

He may have been David by name, but he was Clement by nature.