Friday Fiction–Under the Bridge

/ lmkling / 1 Comment

[Hey, I had planned a profile of an ancestor, but somehow time got away and it never happened. Still more digging and researching must be done. So, in the meantime, here’s the beginning of my attempt at Crime fiction. (I stress that the following tale is fiction, the characters are fiction, and I’m writing under the name of my alter-ego/crime-fighting name, Tessa Trudinger). I’d love to know what you think as I tackle this challenge to develop my Detective Dan series.]

Chapter 1

Part 1

The Guilt of Omission

Saturday June 27, 1981

2pm

Hiking Trail enroute to Mt. Lofty

Lillie

Fifi’s voice echoed through the steep gully, ‘Hey, what’s this? Some cow carcass!’ The blackberry bushes around her rustled in the icy breeze. ‘Come on, Lillie! Have a look! It’s gross! I nearly slid right into it.’

Lillie brushed past the liquorice plants and tottered down the slippery clay of the embankment. ‘I really don’t want to see a dead cow.’ She held out the billy while hunting for clear running water from the storm water pipe. ‘I hope the water’s not diseased.’

‘Nah, you’ll be right.’ Fifi poked her auburn curls above the bush and beckoned. ‘Looks like it’s been there for years – it’s just bones.’ Her russet crown disappeared. ‘Just wait.’

Lillie stepped forward. The clattering of the stream over stone was louder here. She stood still and drew in the sweet, scented blend of rain-soaked eucalypt, liquorice and mud. The aroma awakened a memory. I’ve been here before. She thought. The sun’s golden rays parted a curtain of thick cumulous clouds, causing the droplets on the leaves to sparkle like a million diamonds.

‘Hey, Lillie! A chain.’ Fifi held up a blackened necklace, a tear-drop pendant with a quartz stone shimmering in the light. The hand and chain vanished behind the tangle of mint-coloured leaves and thorny branches. ‘Just a minute.’

Lillie’s heart galloped, slamming against her rib cage as if in a desperate attempt to escape. She wanted to run, straight up the hill back to the campsite, back to the comfort of the fire and Jimmy Edward’s, arms. No, that wouldn’t be proper. He’s just a friend. Fifi’s brother. Her legs turned to jelly and froze. ‘What?’ She squeaked through a constricted throat. She had been here before. Summer, five years ago when she was twelve. The landscape dusted in tan and yellow. The moist green of mid-winter had lulled her into a false sense of ignorance.

[Photo 1: Resting enroute to Mt. Lofty © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1983]

A scream pierced the winter silence. ‘Oh, my God!’ Fifi ripped through the tangled bush, her freckly face flushed and green eyes wide as saucers. ‘It’s not a cow! It’s – It’s…’

‘What?’ Lillie rasped puffing out plumes of breath into the frigid air. Blood rushed through her head, roaring, while remembering the hike she preferred to forget.

January 1975: She’d only gone to the creek to fill her canteen. On a 38-degree Celsius day, hiking with her friends, the same friends plus her brother Sven, she was thirsty and needed water; they all needed water. That day Fifi had already fainted from dehydration. What was the harm in getting water from the storm water drain? What was his problem? That man?

[Photo 2: Hiking with school friends up to the summit of Mt. Lofty © C.D. Trudinger 1969]

‘Human!’ Fifi announced.

At that single word, the ball of anxiety swirling into Lillie’s chest converged in the sickening centre and dropped, thudding to the base of her stomach. ‘Oh, dear!’ she said as a blizzard of shock swept over her mind blanking out any thought.

Fifi scrambled up to Lillie and grabbed her hand ordering her to see the skull, commanding her to check out the leather coat, demanding she follow her to under the drain bridge to view the grisly find. Her best friend pulled her down to the creek, to the cavity under the bridge, her body meekly following like a frightened lamb to the slaughtered, her mind viewing the sequence of events as if from above in the clouds.

At first the sight before her resembled a side of beef at the abattoir, except the remains of him lay half sheltered at the base of the sand-stone bridge, and melted into years of silt, moss and sour-sobs. The leather hide of dry skin had sunk into the ribcage, and a disjointed hand of bones reached into the subterranean cave.

That time, when she was twelve, Lillie intended to explore up the creek in search of water. She thought she heard the water rushing. She was sure she did. The creek proved disappointing. Just a trickle. The hot northerly breeze had gypped her. She listened. A faint mewing. A kitten? A poor little kitten mewing from further up. Tracking through the dry creek bed crowded with brittle sticks of shrivelled saplings and prickle bushes laden with green unripe berries, she discovered the man-sized drainpipe. Water dribbled out into a stinky puddle surrounded by a cracked clay pan and rocks, broken tree branches and salt bushes caked in white like plaster of Paris. The kitten’s cries echoed in the black hole that penetrated deep into the hillside.

‘There you are! Ripe for the picking.’ A man’s hot breath stung the back of her neck. Cold hard metal gouged into her shoulder-blade. She turned and caught the look in his eyes, glazed, pupils dilated. He looked like a hungry wolf.

Lillie pushed him away and ran, scampering up the slope like a frightened rabbit.

[Photo 3: Calmer times resting by the creek at Waterfall Gully © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1986]

‘We have to tell the police.’ Fifi stared at the coat of membrane and bones.

‘Why?’ Lillie patted her straight blonde hair. She remembered his boots thumping after her.

‘Cos it’s the right thing to do.’

[to be continued…Friday fortnight]

© Tessa Trudinger

Feature Photo: Waterfall Gully © L.M. Kling 1996

***

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

Trekking Thursday–Franklin-Gordon River Cruise

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

[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

***

Want more? More than before?

Take a virtual trip with the T-Team and their adventures in Central Australia.

Click here on…

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…

Family History Friday–The Romantic Road

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

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


    And now, for something different…from Europe…

    Dreaming of an Aussie Outback Adventure?

    Click the link below:

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

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

    To download your Amazon Kindle copy of the story…

    And escape in time and space to the Centre of Australia way back when…

    Trekking Thursday–Hike Around Dove Lake

    / lmkling / Leave a comment

    [An unexpected shower while walking along the beach the other day reminded me of our Tasmanian adventure back in 2001, when our boys were young (about 11 and 8). That time Hubby was most concerned about keeping his charges dry. However, he went to great lengths to make sure all was done as frugally as possible.]

    K-Team, the Younger: Tasmania 2001

    Dove Lake Hike in Garbage Bags–Cradle Mountain National Park

    Hubby paced the floor of the mountain cabin. ‘Yes, that’ll work. Garbage bags’ll work.’ He was in his frugal element and raced around the small room as if he’d won the lottery. ‘Oh, and so cheap!’

    He spent the rest of the evening cutting and taping two garbage bags and fashioning them into ponchos for our young sons.

    Sons 1 and 2, unaware of the fate that awaited them, marvelled at the possum perched on the balcony.

    ***

    Next morning, a shroud of mist covered the valley.

    ‘Hmm, the weather doesn’t look good,’ my husband said. ‘Don’t know if we’ll see much of Cradle Mountain. Boys’ll definitely need the ponchos I made when we hike around Dove Lake.’

    Hubby grinned as he pushed the garbage bags into our packs.

    *[Photo 1: Possum © A. Kling 2001]

    I slung my camera’s bulky telescopic lens in its case over my shoulder and tucked it under my parka. I remembered the words of a professional photographer friend who had visited Cradle Mountain before me. ‘Even on cloudy days, you never know when the peak will appear. So, be prepared.’ Besides, I thought, mist and fog give the scenery character.

    In our hire car Ford sedan, we crawled in the tourist-congo to Dove Lake.  Signs warned us of an unsealed section of road suitable only for four-wheel drive vehicles. But did that stop Hubby? No, we bumped along the track behind a bus with him plopping in remarks. ‘Brachina Gorge was worse.’ Or, ‘What are they talking about, this is nothing.’

    After parking, Hubby leapt from the car. ‘Oh, looks like rain.’ He pulled out the “raincoats” and waved them in the air. ‘Come on boys, you need to be waterproof.’

    Son 1 recoiled. ‘I’m not wearing that.’

    ‘No!’ Son 2 screamed and hid behind me.

    ‘Oh, yes, you will!’ their father said. ‘You’ll get wet and a chill and then catch a death of cold, if you don’t.’

    ‘No!’ both boys squealed and then scampered up the path.

    A battle ensued; Hubby with garbage bag-ponchos verses sons refusing to wear the garbage bags.

    Dad won, and with the g-b-ponchos draped over two unhappy boys, the young K-Team trooped along the Dove Lake track.

    A blanket of cloud covered the mountain, and drizzle blurred the view of the lake. The shifting mist mesmerised me. I slowly pulled out my camera and then attached the telescopic lens.

    ‘Get this off me!’ Son 2 cried. He fought with his garbage bag in the wind, and then tore it off.

    ‘No! You must keep it on!’ his dad grabbed the bag-poncho and struggled to put it back over him. Then, with success, clasping his son’s hand, Dad marched ahead, dragging Son 2 behind him.

    *[Photo 2: All waterproof © L.M. Kling 2001]

    ‘I hate this walk!’ Son 1 cried. ‘Why do I have to wear this sack!’

    ‘So you don’t get wet!’ Dad said as they disappeared around a bend of pine trees, branches like arms all twisted and gnarled; monsters in the fog.

    As I progressed around that same bend, I spied No. 2 son sitting on a stump by the path. The sun peeped through the clouds. ‘I’m not wearing this,’ Son 2 said. ‘It’s too hot.’

    I glanced around. No Hubby. ‘Okay.’ I took the garbage bag cloak off Son 2, then peeled off my parka.

    The lake shimmered as rays of sun filtered through the mist and gaps in the cloud. A photographer’s paradise. I aimed my camera and snapped several shots of Dove Lake.

    *[Photo 3: Waterfall over Dove Lake © L.M. Kling 2001] 

                                                                 

    *[Photo 4: Dove Lake through pines © L.M. Kling 2001] 

                                                   

    ‘Mum! Come on!’ Son 2 yelled.

    ‘Hurry up!’ Hubby beckoned. ‘We’ve hardly started! And what are you doing without your rain cover?’

    More protests as Hubby wrestled with Son 2 to get garbage bag-poncho again over his head.

    Just in time. Dark clouds loomed, followed by rain pelting down on us. Hubby knew what he was doing; he was making sure the boys stayed dry.

    As we plodded along the path, once again wrapped and water-proofed, the rain turned to sleet. Icy drops cut into my face.

    ‘I’m tired,’ Son 2 whined. ‘How much longer?’

    ‘It’s an hour’s walk, I replied.

    The sun appeared, and so did the peaks of Cradle Mountain—fleeting, peeping from the curtain of clouds.

    *[Photo 5: Cradle Mountain in Mist © L.M. Kling 2001]

    ‘Wow!’ I halted, shed my rain-jacket, shrugged off the tangle of bags and camera equipment, then caught the image of the mountain before it disappeared.

    Son 2 shed his garbage bag-cloak too.  He sighed, ‘How embarrassing!’

    I packed the embarrassing cover into my bag and we continued the trek around Dove Lake. Every few metres I paused to take another photo.

    ‘Are we there yet?’ Son 2 asked as we crossed a stream.

    Hubby stood before us. ‘What’s taking you so long?’

    ‘There’s so many beautiful scenes to capture,’ I said. ‘The clouds are always shifting and changing. How can I resist?’

    ‘Should only take an hour. It’s been two hours and we’re only half-way.’ Hubby said.

    ‘But, the photos…’

    A pair of hikers passed us from the other direction.

    ‘How far to go?’ they asked.

    ‘A couple of hours,’ I said. ‘How long have you been hiking?’

    ‘From the boathouse, about half-an-hour.’

    ‘Not long to go then.’

    ‘Right, I’m off,’ Hubby said. ‘See you at the boathouse.’

    Hubby and Son 1 marched off while Son 2 and I shuffled behind. We tried to keep up.

    *[Photo 6: Dove Lake Through trees © L.M. Kling 2001]
    *[Photo 7: Cradle Mountain Revealed© L.M. Kling 2001]

    Emerging through the twisted branches of snow-gums, the lake beckoned, then hints of Cradle Mountain begged me to photograph. Father and Son 1 drifted further…and further ahead, while I remained suspended in the fairyland of Dove Lake, Cradle Mountain and fast-shifting mist and cloud. Even Son 2 deserted me to catch up with his dad and brother.

    I arrived at the boathouse.

    ‘Four hours!’ Hubby greeted me. ‘That must be a record.’

    Our sons, minus garbage bags, skipped stones on the smooth surface of the lake while mist descended over the mountain. I extracted my camera and aimed, taking care to focus.

    ‘Hurry up!’ Hubby snapped, ‘It’s way past lunch.’

    During lunch Hubby scrunched up the green plastic of garbage bags and dumped them into a nearby bin.

    *[Photo 8: After 4 Hours… © L.M. Kling 2001]
    *[Photo 9: K-Boys skipping stones © L.M. Kling 2001]
    *[Photo 10: Cradle Mountain on a better, no, the best day 8 years later © L.M. Kling 2009]

    © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2017; updated 2019; 2023

    Feature Photo: Cradle Mountain Revealed © L.M. Kling 2001

    [Stay tune for next fortnight and see what a difference a few years make. And how the K-Team the younger, just a little bit older, tackle the hike around Dove Lake on a perfect sunny day in the summer of 2009.

    Next week I will be sharing some of my discoveries in my venture into family history, perhaps I can find the reason why I would take 4 hours to walk around Dove Lake. Is it written into my genetic code???]

    ***

    Want more? More than before?

    Take a virtual trip with the T-Team and their adventures in 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

    To download your Amazon Kindle copy of the story…

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

    Family History Friday–Remembering My Dad

    / lmkling / 1 Comment

    [As I may have mentioned in a previous post, I have embarked on a journey of discovery, down the rabbit hole of family history. To be honest, I have spent more time researching than on writing new blog posts. So, as it’s my late-dad’s birthday tomorrow, I am revisiting his life-story which was the eulogy read out at his funeral.

    It is interesting that usually at this time of year, way back when he was with us, we would plan to celebrate his birthday. Inevitably, being Adelaide, South Australia and the middle of summer, the temperature would be nudging 40 degrees Celsius, or over, and the party would be cancelled. Too hot for my mum who, having lived in the heat of the Centre of Australia in her youth, couldn’t tolerate the blazing heat.

    [Intro photo: Celebrating Dad’s birthday with mum’s specialty, sponge cake © L.M. Kling 1996]

    When we finally did celebrate his birthday, on a cooler day several weeks later, if there was a lull or even if there wasn’t, Dad would rest his head in his arms at the table and take a nap. He even did this once when his brother was visiting from Canada.

    This week is no different, after a cooler and wetter than usual start to summer, today is typically the hot, dry heat that Adelaide does best; a reminder of all those cancelled birthdays of Dad’s, yet remembering what he emphasised was most important in life—God’s love.]

    He Wanted Us to Know God’s Love

    In Memory and celebration of my father’s life…

    Remembering his birthday 96 years ago, Saturday January 13…

    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. 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 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: 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 © 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. Bought in 1963 © C.D. Trudinger 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. Built in 2006 © 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.

    [Photo 11: The original men of the T-Team, David (3rd from left) and his father and brothers © C.D. Trudinger collection 1967]

    First published as a eulogy to Clement David Trudinger by Lee-Anne Marie Kling ©2012

    Revised © 2016; 2021; 2024

     Feature photo: Central Australian sunrise © C.D. Trudinger ©1977

    ***

    More of my dad’s intrepid adventures in Central Australia in my memoirs:

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

    Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

    T-Team @ Home–Glenelg

    / lmkling / Leave a comment

    [Slowing down after Christmas/ New Year and feeling nostalgic, this time I meander down to my childhood stamping ground, Glenelg.]

    My Old Stamping Ground

    I grew up in Somerton Park which is about a ten-minute bike-ride from Glenelg. Even today, though I live in the Adelaide foothills, I go to Glenelg to shop, have coffee at the Broadway Cafe with Mum, and many times I drive through Glenelg on my way up north to Salisbury, or to the Barossa.

    [Photo 1: View of Glenelg beach south © L.M. Kling 2018]

    So, while tourists snap their memories of Glenelg frozen in time, for me images of my childhood and grown-up years remain fluid, layers in my head and marinated with the changes and experiences over the decades. Glenelg has changed; the land/seascape of my memories unrecognisable as the shops, the trams, the jetty and the coastline shift and develop. Although some places have changed, some have stayed the same.

    *[Photo 2: Somerton Beach Catamarans © L.M. Kling nee Trudinger 1977]

    Gone: The Gift Store

    At the tender age of one-year-old, I committed my first (and only) criminal offense at this shop; a five-finger discount of a face-washer. Mum caught me in time, and blushing, returned the stolen item, replacing it on the shelf before anyone noticed.

    The gift store, a favourite of mine, provided birthday presents for me to buy for friends and knick-knacks with my pocket money.

    *[Photo 3: Sea Mist near Glenelg © L.M. Kling 2012]

    Gone: The Historic Cinemas

    One with its red carpet, sweeping staircase and chandeliers. It’s a Woolworths complex now. Many happy moments with family and friends watching movies, eating popcorn and occasionally rolling Jaffa’s down the carpeted aisle.

    The other, halfway down Jetty Road towards the sea, disappeared in the 1980’s. I remember watching the film Heidi there, and before the movie started, the pre-film entertainer conducted a singing competition. My friend won first prize.

    That cinema space became a mini shopping mall which, as a university student, I mopped every Saturday morning for $12. Today, a restaurant resides in that space.

    After several years bereft of cinematic entertainment, a new cinema complex has been built off Partridge Street.

    Gone: Tom the Cheaper Grocer

    While Mum shopped at Toms the Grocer on Mosely Square, my brother and I hung out near the sea wall by the jetty. I loved winter when the waves crashed against the wall. Toms was sold off decades ago and today the old building houses cafés and restaurants.

    *[Photo 4 & 5:  Waves crashing near Broadway Cafe © L.M. Kling 2018]

    Gone: Charlies Café

    At three, I crawled under the table at Charlies Café and my auntie uninvited me to her wedding reception.

    When sixteen, we dined at Charlies as a youth group. The guy I was dating didn’t show. After the supper, near tears from being stood up, I waited with my friends for this guy to arrive and drive us home. There were not enough cars amongst the group to drive us all. In a flash, this guy appeared in his silver car. He glanced at us and then kept on driving down Jetty Road.

    My brother had to make two trips to carry us all safely home.

    Charlies is long gone. So’s that guy. I dropped him.

    ***

    Here today Despite Time and Changes

    As my friend from Youth Group was fond of saying, ‘Thank God somethings stay the same.’

    *[Photo 6: View from the Broadway Café; a favourite haunt for my mum and me. © L.M. Kling 2018]

    Still There: Glenelg Jetty

    At least an updated and cemented version from one of many over the years of storms that regularly destroy the jetty. Each time the jetty is damaged by a “storm of the century”, it’s repaired or another one is built to maintain that steady icon that makes Glenelg.

    *[Photo 7:  Jetty Boys © M.E. Trudinger circa 1958]
    *[Photo 8: From the Jetty to the Hills © L.M. Kling 2011]

    Still There: Moseley Square

    Tarted up over the decades, today with tall palms and water-features. The shops, cafés and restaurants that line jetty road leading up to Moseley Square, though they change, they are still there and most importantly for the tourists, are open Sundays and public holidays.

    *[Photo 9: Moseley Square © L.M. Kling 2006]
    [Photo 10: Sunset over Moseley Square © L.M. Kling 2010]

    Still There: Some Sort of Amusement Park

    That’s why we go to Glenelg, right? A famous dating place or hang-out for youth. In my teenage years, I followed my date around the games arcade as he sampled all the pinball machines. Yawn!

    A friend sourced the sideshow for lovers and got herself into “trouble”.

    Memories of parking in the carpark in the early morning under the inert Ferris Wheel, and furtive romantic moments before the inevitable knock on the window by the local policeman.

    Over the years, the sideshow alley vanished, but still near the carpark at the end of Anzac Highway, the Ferris Wheel sat idle, a skeleton of its light-garnished self. Then this carpark turned into a round-about, high-rise apartments grew along the foreshore, and the sideshow morphed into a massive brown lump called “The Magic Mountain”.

    My sons enjoyed birthday parties in this mountain’s cave, chasing Pokemon, bumping in floating boats, and slipping down the waterslide.

    Then the “Magic Mountain” went off, replaced by “The Beach house”. Same amusements as before without the “magic” of the mountain. The Ferris Wheel now sits in front of “The Beach house”.

    *[Photo 11: Boat Bumping at Beach House © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2010]

    Nearby, high-rise apartments have grown alongside the marina and with them, a delicious array of cafes and restaurants to feed the foreshore wanderer.

    *[Photo 12: Marina in the moonlight © L.M. Kling 2017]
    *[Photo 13: Now the ferris wheel has moved, centre stage in Moseley Square © L.M. Kling 2021]

    Still there: The Beach

    Ever faithful, ever beautiful, the setting to summers filled with family teas by the beach on the lawns, fish ‘n chips with soft drink or cheese and gherkin sandwiches with cordial. Grandparents busy themselves with crossword puzzles while Mums and Dads swim in the waves with kids by the jetty. Then after, while sitting and licking an ice-cream, families watch the sun bulge bright orange as it sinks below the horizon of sea, overhead in the cloudless sky, a plane from Perth streaks a jet-stream, and on the water, there’s a sailboat, swimmers and paddle-boarders.

    [Photo 14: Watching paddle-boarders © L.M. Kling 2018]
    [Photo 15: Foreshore fun © L.M. Kling 2008]
    [Photo 16: Kitsch Sunset with seagull © L.M. Kling 2018]

     

    And people, who walk the boardwalk, play on the sand, and frolic in the water, on a balmy summer’s evening, beam with smiles on their faces. This is the constant memory, through the decades of changes, this is the memory that stays with me of Glenelg.

    *[Photo 17: Sunset contemplation of Mr K © L.M. Kling 2018]

    © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2017; updated 2019; 2020; 2024

    *Feature Photo: Sunset at Glenelg © L.M. Kling 2019

    ***

    Dreaming of Adventure?

    Read more of the adventures of the T-Team in my memoir, The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977 and Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981 available on Amazon and Kindle. Check them out, click on the links below:

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

    Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

    Travel Back in time with Family–Christmas Memories

    / lmkling / Leave a comment

    You Better Be Good…

    A Christmas Memoir

    ‘I remember you,’ says a lady from church, my mum’s age, ‘you couldn’t keep still. I felt sorry for your poor mother.’

    Another lady nods. ‘She had her hands full, your mum.’

    ‘Ooh, there was the time you escaped and ran up to the altar—oh, your poor mother!’

    I smile and nod. So different now.

    ***

    Back then, mid 1960’s…

    The Children’s Carol service Christmas Eve—the bag full of sweets and honey biscuits stacked under the live Christmas tree, an incentive to stand in front of the congregation, singing my little three-year-old heart out. I love singing. Then when the Pastor preaches, the Sunday School teacher, Mrs. S, tells me to sit still, be quiet and don’t sin. Be good if you want your bag of lollies.

    So, unless I’m told, I sit, am quiet and I don’t sin. Being good means not singing unless told to sing. I thought that’s what Mrs. S meant. And, being good means the reward of sweets at the end of the service. Oh, dear! How long is the pastor going to preach! I try not to wriggle. Everyone’s looking at me. But it’s so hot and stuffy in the church. Poor baby Jesus born in the middle of summer when it’s so hot! My halo’s itching my head. I take it off and scratch my head.

    Mrs. S holds up her hand to me. ‘Lee-Anne! Be still! You want your sweets, don’t you?’

    I try and put the halo on my head. It’s crooked and slips over my ear.

    Mrs. S snatches the halo off my head. She has a cross look in her eyes.

    Oh, dear, I hope I haven’t been naughty. I wasn’t sinning, was I? I hunch over and hold my fidgety hands tight. Must be still. Must be quiet. Must not sin. Want those sweets.

    Mrs. S gestures for us children to rise. Goody, I can sing! I stand, take a deep breath of pine-air. ‘Joy to the World!’

    The service ends. We wait by the tree. I marvel at the white “crismons”, the symbolic decorations from our great-great Grandfathers from Germany. These white shapes made out of Styrofoam and sprinkled with glitter make me wonder, is this what snow looks like? I’ve never seen snow. Snow is for cold places and Adelaide is always hot. Except in winter when it’s cold enough to have the kerosene heater going in the kitchen. But Adelaide’s not cold enough for snow, mummy says.

    [Photo 1: Christmas in Australia means it’s hot enough to go to the beach © L.M. Kling 2017]

    ‘Lee-Anne?’ Mrs. S calls.

    I go up to the tree and she hands me my bag of sweets and a children’s book with my name in it.

    ‘This is for attending Sunday School every week and learning all your bible verses,’ Mrs. S says. ‘Good girl.’

    I take the gifts in my arms and careful not to drop my cargo, I take one step at a time out the church as if I’m a flower girl in a wedding. I know about weddings. My Aunty K was married in this church and I wore a new pink dress that my mummy made. And I had this lacy hat, and everybody took photos of me.

    [Photo 2: All Dressed up for wedding © C.D. Trudinger 1964]

    I’m in the courtyard, lost in a forest of legs. I search for mummy’s legs. She has ones under her pretty aqua dress with frills at the bottom. That’s her new dress for Christmas. My mummy’s a dressmaker and she always makes a new dress for her and me at Christmas. I mean, what are daughter’s for but to be dressed up in the prettiest, frilliest dresses at Christmas?

    I can’t see mummy’s dress, or legs. I weave through the legs and scamper down the gravel drive to the back of the church to the car park. She’s in the car, our FJ Holden, Bathsheba, surely. I look in the car. No, she’s not there.

    Tramping behind me. A roar. ‘Naughty girl!’ Dad all red-faced. ‘You know not to go down the drive on your own!’ Dad smacks me on the back of my legs.

    ‘But I was looking for mummy!’ I howl.

    Mummy comes running. ‘Ah, you found her. I was getting worried.’

    My always-good-brother strolls up to the car. He rolls his eyes and mutters, ‘Lee-Anne, always getting lost.’

    ‘Now get in the car,’ Dad snaps.

    I adjust my load. A biscuit drops onto the dirt. I bend to pick it up. Can’t waste good food.

    ‘I told you!’ Dad says with another stinging slap to the legs. ‘Get in the car! Behave yourself, or else!’

    I climb in and assume “or else” means another smack on the legs. Dad crushes the biscuit with his shoe and then slams the door behind me.

    ‘Doesn’t matter how much you smack her,’ Mummy mumbles. ‘She never seems to learn to be good.’

    As Dad drove down the road he glances at me and says, ‘We’re off to Grandma’s now, so be good, or else.’

    Be good, what does that mean? I pondered in my three-year-old mind. I thought it had something to do with not getting into trouble or getting a slap on the legs. I still hadn’t worked it all out, this “being good” business. It had something to do with following my older brother’s and cousins’ example. Something to do with being still. Being quiet and not upsetting the big people. But I don’t know, just when I think I’ve got it worked out, I do something I’ve no idea is wrong and the next thing, I get a smack. All I know is sitting still and being quiet means I’m being good.

    Our car tyres crunch on the stones in Grandma’s driveway. We climb out of Bathsheba and enter the house through the back door and greet Grandma who’s piling plates with honey biscuits. We side-step around the table in the dining area and into the lounge lined with couches, dining chairs, and a piano. The lounge room is filled with the smell of pine tree. Pinned in the corner another real Christmas tree, all lit with electric candle lights and decorated with colourful baubles. I move to the tree to touch the pretty decorations. I must be careful not to step on the presents wrapped in red and green paper under the tree.

    [Video 1: The wonder of Christmas and bon bons © L.M. Kling 2005]

    [Photo 3: The seats are for grown-ups, Lee-Anne (Christmas with the Gross Family) © C.D. Trudinger 1977]

    ‘Now, Lee-Anne, you sit on the floor,’ Mum says. ‘The chairs are for grown-ups.’

    I sit cross-legged by the fireplace.

    ‘You better sit still and be quiet,’ Dad warns, ‘or else.’

    Cousins, aunts and uncles, and the odd, lonely soul from church crowd into Grandma’s lounge room.

    I try hard to follow my cousins’, all older than me, example. Sit still and don’t make a sound. I must be good. I watch the grown-ups all chatting, getting up and down, laughing and joking. Must be fun to be a grown-up.

    Clothed in her purple swirly dress and beige apron, Grandma settles her generous backside on the piano stool. ‘Let’s sing some carols,’ she says and begins hammering on the keys.

    In joyous and rousing strains, we sing our way through the black hymn book’s carols.

    I like singing and can’t help but join in. Then I remember. Be still. Be quiet. Maybe only big people can sing. I glance at Dad. He’s singing, eyes closed. My brother next to me barely opens his mouth. He fidgets. Not a good sign. I’m meant to follow my brother’s example, aren’t I?

    But I love singing. I love Christmas carols. I raise my voice and sing. Everybody’s happy. Everybody, except Richard sings. I check my cousins. They’re singing. Must be alright to sing if my cousins are singing. So, I keep singing.

    [Photo 4: Lined up with cousins © C.D. Trudinger 1965]

    A pause. Grandma dabs a hanky on her brow.

    Mum pipes up. ‘Well, surely that’s enough singing. The children want to open their presents.’

    ‘What’s wrong with singing some more Christmas carols?’ the odd, lonely guy from church asks.

    Mum points at the mantelpiece clock from the Fatherland. ‘I just think it’s getting late for the children.’

    Dad blushes and cleares his throat while the other grown-ups look from my mum to Grandma.

    Grandma looks down and wipes her hands on her apron.

    Was my mum being naughty?

    I reckon they’ve got the wrong person being the naughty one. Who’s the one who’s always told to sit still, be quiet and not sin? Me, of course.

    I stand up and say, ‘It’s alright. I like sinning.’

    Everyone laughs.

    ‘She means “singing” carols.’ Grandma’s tummy jiggles up and down as she chuckles. ‘Yes, it is getting late. Let’s open the presents. And Lee-Anne, since you are the youngest, you can help your mother hand out the Christmas presents.’

    [Photo 5: Opening Christmas Presents © C.D. Trudinger 1964]

    © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2016; updated 2023

    Photo: My Christmas present revealed, me and Teddy, 18 months © C.D. Trudinger 1964

    ***

    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 1981. (Australia)

    Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981 (United States)

    Trekking Thursday–Free Christmas Treat

    / lmkling / 2 Comments

    PANICKED

    [Extract from Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari, available free on Amazon.]

    Rain, Mud and Lost in the Flinders

    Monday July 20, 1981

    Fat dollops of rain struck my sleeping bag, waking me.

    ‘Oh, al-right!’ I mumbled before peeling the sleeping bag from me. I slipped on my shoes and as I was already fully clothed, I shuffled to the campfire.

    The rain stopped.

    [Photo 1: Rain on the Road © C.D. Trudinger 1981]

    Hours dragged as we struggled to eat our cereal, drink beverages, answer the call of nature, and then pack our bags.

    My older cousin, C1 was missing for what seemed an eternity. Younger cousin, C2 commented that his brother liked to read on his “business” ventures.

    I laughed, ‘Our toilet is inaccessible for hours when my brother goes. He doesn’t like books, so I don’t know what he does when he goes.’.

    ‘Well, at least it’s only twice a week,’ my body-building brother said.

    Dad’s eyes widened. ‘What? You only go twice a week?’

    ‘Yeah? How often do you go, Dad?’

    ‘Two or three times a day,’ he replied.

    ‘What?’

    ‘Yeah, that’s normal.’ Dad poked the coals and flames leapt into action. ‘Sure you’re not constipated? I’m not sure your Protein diet is a good idea.’

    [Photo 2: Desert Storm (c) C.D. Trudinger 1981]

    Richard shook his concoction and examined the plastic Tupperware containing Protein-powder mixture. ‘Nup, it’s fine.’ With a teaspoon, he stirred the raw egg floating on top of the bubbles, and then swallowed his liquid breakfast in three gulps.

    C1 returned shovel in hand and a grin spread between his over-night shadow. ‘Ah! That’s better!’

    Dad grabbed the shovel and toilet paper and disappeared into the bush. As we waited for each member to do their “nature-walk”, rain plopped into the sand.

    [Photo 3: Flinders Ranges © C.D. Trudinger 1981]

    We left the Flinders camp mid-morning in the rain, then rattled over corrugations and lumbered through water-washed floodways. An hour into our journey, we stopped at Hawker where the boys selected lollies, and chewing gum to occupy their bored mouths for the hours of travel to come.

    C1 and C2 picked out miscellaneous items they’d forgotten to pack. C1 placed his purchases on the weathered bench and reached for his back pocket. He patted it, and his eyes widened. He jammed his fingers into his pocket, patted his side pockets, and pushed his hands into them and pulled out the lining. He glanced around his feet. ‘Oh, oh! I think I left my wallet behind in the creek,’ he said. While he continued to search the floor, and his pockets, we pooled our money to cover C1’s expenses.

    Despite C1’s lamentations that his wallet contained his driver’s license, passport, visa, and thirty dollars, a wall of steady rain threatening floods, discouraged us from returning to the camp. Dad was sure it was too late to find it. ‘The floods would’ve washed it away,’ he said.

    [Photo 4: Hawker © L. M. Kling 2007]

    On the road through the Flinders Ranges, Dad stopped driving for us to photograph the ranges cloaked in mist. On one of our photo stops, the boys discovered the sport of rock-throwing.

    Our family friend, TR tracked us with his film camera as we all tried to smash beer bottles with rocks.

    Further north, rain pelted our vehicle and lightening flashed. At the bridge near Leigh Creek, we passed a car, bonnet jacked up, and a couple peering at their dead engine.

    [Photo 5: Road on way to Leigh Creek and Woomera © L.M. Kling 2013]

    Richard, came to the rescue and within thirty minutes, resolved their engine issues and sent them on their way. I wish he could have been that efficient with the Rover’s pack-rack!

    While Richard was repairing the car, we inspected the railroad track, the bridge of the over-flowing creek, and then watched a Volkswagen splashing through a pool of muddy water.

    [Photo 6: Volkswagen having fun with puddles © C.D. Trudinger 1981]

    At Lyndhurst, we filled up with petrol. Twelve miles out from there, we camped by a disused train track. We used some of the sleepers for firewood. Birds gathered in a cluster of She oak and eucalyptus trees. Stratus and high cumulous clouds gave rise to a stunning sunset of gold, orange and flares of red.

    [Photo 7: Desert Sunset © C.D. Trudinger 1981]

    ‘Wow! What a glorious sunset!’ I said and then turned to C1. ‘Pity about the rain and losing your wallet.’

    C1 looked up from his book-reading and sighed, ‘I’ll have to manage without it, I guess.’

    [Photo 8: Skipping Stones © C.D. Trudinger 1981]

    ‘Perhaps we can look for it on the way back.’

    ‘Ah, Lee-Anne, always the optimist.’

    © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2017; updated 2020; 2023

    Feature photo: Railway Track Leigh Creek © C.D. Trudinger 1981

    ***

    Christmas Treat Free!

    How did, I as one eighteen-year-old girl with five men, survive camping two months in the outback?

    What did the T-Team discover as they boldly explored where few people have gone before?

    And, did C1 ever find his wallet?

    Find my travel memoir on Amazon and in Kindle.

    Click on the link below:

    Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

    Free Christmas Treat

    Download your Kindle copy for free from today, Thursday 21 December till Monday, Christmas Day, 25 December 2023.

    Travelling Thursday–Mt. Giles, Central Australia

    / lmkling / Leave a comment

    Christmas Holidays are approaching. For me it’s been party time this week. One party after another, especially yesterday with three parties, all in one day. I’m hoping that once the rush and busyness is over, I can rest, relax and start planning our next holiday. Perhaps it’s the same for you.

    In the meantime, here’s a revisit to Central Australia and the T-Team. This time when my brother and I became lost on our descent from Mt. Giles.

    Trekking with the T-Team–Mount Giles

    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

    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)

    Time Travelling Tales on Thursday

    / lmkling / 1 Comment

    Adelaide experienced another spectacular storm last Tuesday. Lightning, thunder, heavy rain…the lot. Our home received at least 45mm, according to the rain gauge. The ceiling leaked and we had to get our builder out to locate the cracked tile.

    Anyway, all that rain reminded me of a story way back in my youth being caught in the rain while waiting for my mum to pick me up from school. The experience sparked this story, a re-blog, but hey, what are memories for?

    Feature Photo: Rain, Kaniva, Victoria (c) L.M. Kling 2023

    Story Time–Sowing and Reaping