More Art–Last Few Days

MY LIFE—WORK VERSES ART:

The joy of creating over creating wealth

As a child, I enjoyed creating what I see or images in my mind with colour on paper or canvas. I would go into “the creative zone” and spend hours drawing or painting. Once I missed a visit by favourite relatives because I was “in the zone” painting a Central Australian mountain range.

[Painting 1: Mt. Sonder © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) Circa 1977]

I remember at eight years old, painting with acrylics at my grandmother’s house. I loved the process of paint gliding and flowing from the brush and how my mountain became a volcano smoke billowing from its mouth and snow gracing its slopes. I was hooked.

[Painting 2: Volcano © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) circa 1973]

But, in the 1970’s, with the rise of the status of women in society, the prevailing attitude was that every woman has a right to education, university and a career. The culture of the day was instilled in me that art was merely a hobby. So I never considered doing art as a career. My year eleven teacher cried as I chose Chemistry over Art for my final year. I reasoned I could always pick up art (as a hobby) once I left school.

[Painting 3: Calendar Butterfly © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1977]

This I did in 1981, my gap year. I joined a local Art Class in Glenelg and Arthur Phillips taught me to paint with precision, like a photograph, layer upon layer, with acrylics. I admired Arthur’s skill and enjoyed the classes that were always filled with laughter.

[Painting 4: Mt. Liebig © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1981]

However, as a poor university student, I had to give up Art Classes. I thought the Art Club at University would suffice. But it didn’t. The University Art Club at that time, seemed to be more focussed on social activities than getting together to paint.

[Painting 5: One Day in the Barossa © L.M. Kling 2018]

After graduating in 1985 with a Bachelor of Arts (majoring in Japanese and English), and then in 1986 a Graduate Diploma of Education, I entered the teaching profession and in 1987 relocated to Melbourne for my first job. After eighteen months of teaching teenagers, many of whom did not want to learn, coupled with a feeling my life had been hijacked by school, I quit teaching. I then took up a Research Officer position with Fusion Australia, a youth and community organisation that had an office in Murrumbeena, not far from where my husband and I lived.

[Painting 6: Great Ocean Road in pastel © L.M. Kling 2020]

Soon after I began working there, the community centre associated with where I worked, put on a community event—painting a mural with the help of a well-known local artist, Arthur Boyd. He shared his struggles as a professional artist over his career, making ends meet. This conversation opened my mind to the idea that for some (who were good enough) art can be more than a hobby. I now wonder what happened to the mural he helped us paint. The church in which the community centre was housed at Murrumbeena was knocked down and the land developed into a nursing home in the early 1990’s.

[Painting 7: Echo Camp, Mt. Painter Sanctuary © L.M. Kling 1989]

In 1989, my friend from church, organised art classes with artist Geoff Rogers as our teacher. Geoff taught me to loosen up with my paintings—more flow and movement in the scenes of the Flinders Ranges I painted.

At the same time, the local community centre offered art classes which I joined. There I continued my loose-with-palette-knife rendition of the Gammon Ranges’ Bunyip Chasm. The art teacher discouraged me. ‘You can’t do that, it looks awful,’ she said.

Later a friend came up to me as I was painting and remarked, ‘I love it! Can I buy it when you’re finished?’

I decided Geoff Rogers’ style suited me and kept with the loose style. I framed Bunyip Chasm which at the time cost $80 and then offered the painting to my friend for $100.

‘Oh, I can’t afford $100, dear,’ she said, ‘can you make it less?’

I loved my Bunyip Chasm and said, ‘I’m sorry, I can’t lower the price as the frame cost $80.’ To be honest, I was too attached to my painting to part from it.

[Painting 8: Bunyip Chasm © L.M. Kling 1989]

For the next twenty-two years, Bunyip Chasm decorated the walls of the homes we lived in. I gave it as a fiftieth birthday present to my sister-in-law as it was a favourite of hers. I then painted another Bunyip Chasm in the same style, but different, and that sold too.

When my children entered our world, I couldn’t paint—no room in a two-bedroom unit, and even when we progressed to a larger home, life was busy raising a family. So nineteen years passed without touching a brush or canvas. When we returned to Adelaide, with the boys at school, I enquired about art classes, but was told the same story again and again—the classes are fully booked, you’d have to go on a waiting list. There must be a lot of people doing art in Adelaide, I thought.

Then in 2009, I joined a writers’ group. At the same time, the art-bug had bitten, and I began painting with an artist friend from church. I shared how I found it hard to separate from my paintings, they were like my babies. My friend’s husband said, ‘But you need to share your work and bring happiness to others.’

Half-way through the year, a fellow writer invited me to join Marion Art Group (MAG). ‘Just bring along some of your work,’ she said.

Gulp! What if they don’t like my work? But I steeled myself and armed with three recent pieces of art, I went down to the hall where the group was held.

No worries, I was accepted. And by the end of the year, I’d sold my first painting, Cockling at Goolwa, to another MAG member.

[Painting 9: A more recent Cocking at Goolwa (in Pastel) © L.M. Kling 2023]

In my first MAG exhibition at a local shopping centre, I sold my second painting, Brachina Sunrise. Then…nothing sold for two years. Effects of the GST, perhaps. Customers not spending on luxuries like art.

I persevered with painting, attending MAG studio sessions every Monday morning, and exhibiting my work with MAG and with the local Rotary Art Show. Through workshops, videos and practice, I taught myself watercolour painting. The sale-drought made me work through why I paint. I came to the conclusion I paint because I enjoy it and can express the joy and glory of God’s creation. Perhaps that’s why I mostly paint landscapes.

[Painting 10: Sunrise on Brachina Hills © L.M. King 2010]

Then, in 2012, I put my work in another exhibition. This time, I invested in a full screen—I had so many paintings piling up and reasoned if they don’t sell, at least my friends and family can enjoy going down to the shopping centre and looking at them. I came home one afternoon, and the phone message light was flashing. I listened to the recorded message. ‘Congratulations you have sold…’

[Painting 11: Sleeping Beauty over Huon, Tasmania (acrylic) © L.M. Kling—A pastel version is available as an unframed in the basket in this year’s MAG exhibition at Brighton Central]

Hooray! Since then, I have sold paintings—some years more, some years less. I guess at this stage the money made is “hobby money”. And I remind myself, it’s not what I sell, that’s important, but that I enjoy the process of painting…getting in the creative zone. And maybe for others who connect with my paintings, bringing joy into their lives too.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2016; updated 2024

Feature Painting: Wood for fire, Glen Helen, Northern Territory (acrylic) © L.M. Kling 2022

 [Check out more on our Marion Art Group Website: marionartgroup.org, and enjoy…

Or if you are in Adelaide come and see our exhibition at Brighton Central Shopping Centre. We are here until Sunday, October 27.]

OR…

Virtual Travel Opportunity

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

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

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

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

Art Break–Story Behind the Muse

Oops! Almost one week into Marion Art Group’s (my art group) exhibition at the local shopping centre, and I have failed to mention it. Been too busy writing, appraising hopeful writer’s works, and transcribing a friend’s biography of her mother who lived through the horrors of World War II. Plus burrowing away in the family history rabbit hole.

I have been pondering where my art genes have come from. No mention of renown artists in my ancestry. My dad was an artist with some potential, emphasis on potential as he channeled his talents more into music than art. My maternal grandfather, Sam Gross was an amazing photographer. But as a missionary pastor in Central Australia, he was discouraged from furthering his photographic endeavours as the mission board frowned on it and said he was spending too much money on camera equipment and film.

So, in light of my predecessor’s unrealised potential and the fact that I am still using the watercolour paints and brushes my dad left behind, I will share an afternoon that we spent painting in Central Australia in 1981.

Mount Hermannsburg

My father and I sat in the dry river bed of the Finke River painting Mt Hermannsburg which towered above the river gums and spinifex. We painted our muse on site; Dad painted in watercolour and I painted in acrylic.

After a couple of hours, Dad packed up his brushes and palette and returned to the town of Hermannsburg. I stayed, in the creative zone, dibbing and dabbing, the setting sun casting shadows over the river bed and a cool breeze pricking me with goose bumps on my bare arms.

I made the final touches as the sun sank below the horizon and I was called in for tea. I signed with my maiden name, naturally, as I was only 18.

Dad’s painting and mine sat side by side on our host’s piano where all who saw, admired our work. I kept walking past and gazing at my painting. Did I really do this? Wow! Did I really?

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2016; updated 2024

Mt. Hermannsburg, MacDonnell Ranges Northern Territory, Australia. Painting by Lee-Anne Kling (nee Trudinger) in acrylic 1981. Not for Sale

***

If you are in Adelaide, check us out.

Ready for the Weekend Friday–T-Team next Generation (Uluru 3)

T-Team Next Generation

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

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

This time, for the first time in this, my third visit to Uluru, we walked part of the way around the Rock.]

Yet Another Excuse not to Climb the Rock

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

Packing—Anthony was very particular how the car and bags should be packed. He considers himself the master of packing; no one can do packing as good as he can. So, in an effort to get out of some extra work, I decided that since he considers packing his personal gift and calling, I’d allow him to pack while I prepared breakfast. Alas, my plan was not executed as well as expected.

‘Lee-Anne!’ the packing-expert called, ‘Can you come and pack your bags, please.’

It seems I’m the expert when it comes to packing my own bags. So, putting breakfast on hold, I trudged back into the tent to deal with my personal belongings.

[Photo 1: Packing up the tent routine, Mambray Creek © L.M. Kling 2018]

‘Careful not to over-fill the bag,’ came the expert’s warning, ‘you might break the zip.’

He then lifted one of my bags ready to be piled in the car. ‘My goodness! What have you got in here? It weighs a tonne.’

While Anthony grumbled while playing Tetris with our luggage in the Ford station wagon, I resumed preparing breakfast while listening and watching the T-Team pack up camp in a haze of drizzle. Mrs. T barked orders organising her family into an efficient machine of packing and cleaning. Then, executing her sweeping expertise, she swept out the tent, trailer and car.

[Photo 2: Eating breakfast the morning after—Muesli, it’s good for you. Arkaroola Village on our honeymoon © L.M. Kling 1987]

After eating, I trudged to the shared kitchen facilities where I washed the dishes. After three days at Yulara campsite, I had discovered that these facilities offered a communal kettle to boil water. Still, the T-Team had for that time, a more convenient one, courtesy of my brother’s inverter and battery-power.

The thing was, I had to boil the kettle to obtain hot water to wash the dishes. While I waited for the kettle to boil, I chatted to a mum from Sydney whose family were just finishing their holiday.

Back at camp, I helped Anthony pack up the tent.

[Photo 3: Another Prohibition; they’re everywhere! This one found at Kata Tjuta © L.M. Kling 2013]

‘Dad,’ my nephew said in a sing-song voice, ‘can we climb the rock today?’

‘I don’t think so,’ came the mumbled reply, ‘probably won’t; clouds too low, or wet, or something.’

‘Oh, but…’

‘We’re going to walk around the base of the Rock,’ I offered. ‘You could join us, and if it clears up, you might be able to climb the rock.’

‘We’ve had rain, wind, cultural reasons…’ Anthony chipped in, ‘how many more excuses do they have?’

‘Nah, the Rock’s had its chance,’ Mrs T snapped. ‘I reckon we just get going to Alice Springs.’

‘Hmmm, we’ll meet you there, then,’ Anthony said. ‘We’re going to walk around the Rock the other way this morning.’

[Photo 4: Rock approach, but still no climbers © L.M. Kling 2013]

***

However, upon meeting up with the T-Team at the Service Station for fuel, it seems certain T-Lings had changed their parents’ minds. They would be trying one last time to climb Uluru. We agreed to meet them at the entrance to where one starts to climb the Rock.

Upon arrival, Anthony and I trekked up to the gate. The sign read, “Closed due to cloud”.

While we waited for the T-Team, a ranger with a metal panel tucked under his arm, sauntered up to the sign. He unscrewed the “cloud” sign and replaced it with a “high winds” sign.

‘Well, now we know how it’s done,’ I remarked.

Anthony sighed. ‘I guess the T-Team saw that excuse and are on their way to Alice Springs.’

‘I guess so.’

[Photo 5: Sign of disappointment © L.M. Kling 2013]

***

We walked around the “ladies’” part of the Rock. The previous day we had explored the “men’s” section. The cloud cover lifted and the sun emerged, bathing the landscape in a lemony light. Although now dry and sunny, we encountered only the occasional hiker; for most of the trek we were on our own.

We marvelled at the grandeur of the Rock, and the sense of an ancient spiritual presence.

Photo 6: Start of the “Ladies walk” around Uluru base © L.M. Kling 2014
[Photo 7: Natural Dam © L.M. Kling 2013]
[Photo 8: Is that Darth Vader? © L.M. Kling 2013]
[Photo 9: View of Kata Tjuta from walk © L.M. Kling 2013]

After an hour’s walk, we returned to the Rock’s entry point. A small crowd had gathered by the gate. They watched the ranger again fiddling with the notice board.

Anthony shook his head. ‘What excuse this time?’

The ranger placed an “Open” sign on the board and unlocked the gate.

We watched dismayed as the crowd surged through and scampered up the steep incline.

[Photo 10: Open at last! © L.M. Kling 2013]

‘Poor T-Team,’ I said, ‘just as they had given up, the Rock is open for business.’ Using my mobile phone, I snapped a shot of the tourists like ants inching their way up the rocky sides of Uluru. Later, I attempted to share the photo with my niece. But, it seemed my endeavour failed. Anthony had also taken photos with his phone which he then tried to share with the T-Lings. Still no success.

After another failed attempt to send a photo, this time during a stop at Curtain Springs, Anthony muttered, ‘What do you expect from a cheap mobile plan?’ He then extolled the virtues of his Telstra plan.

[to be continued…next, Adventures on way to Alice Springs]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2020; updated 2024

Feature Photo: Like ants they climb up the Rock © L.M. Kling 2013

***

Virtual Travel Opportunity

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

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

The T-Team with mr. b: Central Australian Safari 1977

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

Second Friday Crime–The Culvert (18a)

Another Life

Morphettville

Dan

Less than half a kilometre down the road from Sven von Erikson, lived Dan. His home was also a former housing trust home. His air-conditioning still hadn’t been fixed. But it was well into autumn and with the constant clement weather, the need to be cool had been postponed until next summer. Dan hoped that the following summer might be mild, and then he could save for a well-earned break and trip to Europe to see his daughters. His son, Leo lived with him in this small three-bedroom abode. He had a yearning to travel to Europe to see his mother and sisters.

*[Photo 1: Zurich, Switzerland © L.M. Kling 2014]

Although Leo had acquired a job filling shelves at the Woolworths grocery store in Glenelg, finally, he balked at his father’s suggestion to pay board. Yet, when it came to enduring the discomfort of summer heat, Leo was the first to whine that Dan, on his modest income, must buy a new air conditioner.

Dan managed to skirt that expense with the promise of a much needed and long-awaited European holiday the following year.

While his son slept soundly after an all-night Dungeons and Dragons (D&D) role-playing session with his mates, Dan yawned and rearranged the pens and papers on his desk. He then spoke to his phone. ‘Call Eloise.’

While his mobile obediently dialed and connected to Eloise’s phone, Dan smoothed the wrinkled edges of his note paper. He had free hands as he was on speaker. He yawned again. He’d been up all-night leafing through the von Erikson and Edwards files. No use sleeping when his son had mates over playing D&D.

He sipped a strong coffee he had bought while taking an early morning walk to local café up the street.

*[Photo 2: Much needed Cappuccino © L.M. Kling 2023]

Eloise’s voice chimed through the mobile’s speaker. ‘Hello, Dan.’

Dan smiled. ‘Hey, Eloise, I have some interesting news for you.’

‘Yes? What have you got for me?’

‘Well, I was going over some old files from way back in 1977-78 and I think they might be connected.’

‘You mean the disappearance of Percy Edwards?’

‘Yes, and the disappearance of Jan von Erikson in 1977.’

‘They were neighbours, right?’

‘Yes, how did you know?’

‘I’ve been talking to Fifi,’ Eloise said. ‘She’s the one who has concerns about what happened to her father. She thinks he was murdered, and his body left up near Mt. Lofty.’

*[Photo 3: Over the creek on hike to Mt. Lofty © C.D. Trudinger circa 1970]

‘U-huh.’

‘How’s this related to von Erikson—Jan did you say?’

‘A year before Percy Edwards went missing, Jan von Erikson walked out on his family. Or so his wife said. No one has seen or heard from him since. It’s like he disappeared off the face of the earth,’ Dan said.

‘He didn’t just up stakes and move interstate?’

‘Perhaps, but the more I looked into the case, the history, the call outs to the house, on several occasions, the more I began to suspect they were not happy campers behind closed doors. Heck, I’ve got school reports here where both Sven and Lillie were repeatedly missing school and for not wearing the proper uniform. And another from the school nurse reporting that Lillie was suffering from malnutrition.’

‘I suspected as much,’ Eloise replied and called out, ‘See, Francis? I was right. She was so skinny it wasn’t normal. School reports.’

‘Okay, love,’ Francis Renard could be heard saying, ‘the detective Delaney is always right.’

‘Where are you?’ Dan asked.

‘Still in bed,’ Eloise said tartly, ‘I’m on holiday, don’t you remember?’

‘Yeah, well, apart from being in bed at 7:30 am, doesn’t sound like it,’ Dan said with a chuckle.

‘When did you get up, detective?’

‘I didn’t; been up all…’

‘Dan! You really need to look after yourself or you’ll get sick…really sick.’

‘I know, I know,’ Dan sighed. ‘But Leo had his friends over and they were playing D&D and I figure, what’s the use. So, I used my time constructively, researching.’

‘Don’t blame me if you end up in hospital.’

He imagined El shaking her head.

‘I won’t.’

‘Anything else relating to those characters?’ Dan asked. ‘Like Percy’s wife—is she still alive?’

‘Nah, I think she’s passed. Fifi mentioned she died about ten years ago from food poisoning,’ El replied.

‘I see, anything else you might find relevant?’

‘Apparently, von Erikson worked for Edwards. It would seem they had a falling out just before von Erikson went missing. Not sure what it was about, but von Erikson had a drinking problem, so Fifi reckoned. What was Edwards’ business exactly?’

‘Not sure, but it made him quite cashed up.’ Dan straightened his pens lining them up on his desk like soldiers. ‘He was into cars. Mostly Fords. Belonged to the Ford club, I believe. I remember that from my youth group days. Mr. Edwards was a member at our church. All us lads admired the newest and latest Ford he and his family turned up to church in.’

‘Okay, so?’

[Photo 4: Not the Newest Ford, but proud and camping © L.M. Kling 2018]

‘The thing is, after his father disappeared, Sven, von Erikson’s son has this Ford. Ford Falcon XB, fresh off the assembly line. I was so envious. But at the same time, I could never figure out how Sven, who came from a poor family, was able to afford such a car.’ Dan drummed his fingers. ‘I remember Sven saying he earnt a lot with the building work he was doing. But I don’t think so. Anyway, there’s some pieces of the puzzle for you to work with, El.’

‘Interesting,’ Eloise replied. ‘Sven has suggested I paint Lillie’s portrait. I’ll see if I can get her to talk.’

Leo called from his bedroom. ‘Dad, can you take me to Woollies on your way to work? I have to be there in fifteen.’

Dan huffed and snapped, ‘Can’t you take a tram?’

‘No, I’ll be late.’

‘Oh, well, fine then,’ Dan muttered, ‘I hope you’ve showered.’

On the other side of the thin wall, Dan heard mumblings and shuffling. Leo had never learnt to drive, and Dan had regretted not forcing the issue. Milo’s unfortunate accident had left its mark.

‘I must go and be “Uber Dad” again,’ he breathed to Eloise, and then ended the call.

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

*Feature Photo: Memories of a hike up Mt. Lofty © C.D. Trudinger circa 1970

***

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

Family History Friday–Off with My Head

Off the Top of My Head

Random Thoughts about Family History

Friday has rolled around and once again, the well-researched, edited and polished article on some nascent topic of family history has failed to materialize. Too busy researching and chasing promising leads down rabbit holes. Plus making a concerted effort to finish the first draft of “Under the Bridge”, now titled The Culvert.

Hence, I am blatantly and unashamedly going to ramble and keeping to the theme of rabbits, rabbit on.

A fellow writer has the penchant to invite the reader to get comfortable in their favourite armchair with a cuppa and a bikkie, and then travel along with her in her latest story. So, I’m doing something similar today. Imagine we are in your café of choice, I’m having my decaf cappuccino with almond milk and you’re having your beverage of choice, and we are having a chat about family history. Admittedly, I’m the one doing all the talking—for a start. You can have your say at the end in the comment section.

[Photo 1: Coffee anyone? © L.M. Kling 2021]

Anyway, as I sip on my drink, I tell you…

I’ll start with the food. Early on in My Heritage forays, the computer offered some guidance with AI (artificial intelligence) in finding those relatives who would prefer to remain hidden in the distant past.

I took the AI up on the offer, to my regret.

After many questions that became more ridiculous as time went on, the robot which I might prefer to call a “bubble-headed booby”, asked the ultimate in absurdity. ‘What did your ancestor like to eat for breakfast?’

You need to understand that AI was asking about an ancestor who lived three hundred years in the past. If I knew the answer to the breakfast question, I wouldn’t be asking AI, would I?

I decided then to avoid researching with the AI after that interaction.

It got me thinking, though. What did my ancestors eat for breakfast? Too late for most of them to tell me. Even the famous ones don’t include a breakfast menu.

So, for future generations, here’s my offering for the few of my immediate family of whom I know their breakfast preferences.

*[Photo 2: Sunday Brunch Spread © C.D. Trudinger circa 1955]

My dad, Clement David Trudinger grew up during the depression and Second World War times. He loved bread with dripping. I’m not sure if this was a breakfast go-to, but he did say. Just saying.

My mum has to have her cup of coffee first thing in the morning. Coffee gets her going.

A few nuts and a cup of Caro does me for breakfast.

I’m not sure what my maternal grandma, Elsa Gross liked for breakfast, but she didn’t eat meat. I remember her having toast with butter and jam.

As for my maternal grandpa, Sam Gross, and my paternal grandma and grandpa, Ron and Lina Trudinger, I have no idea. And that’s only going back two generations.

All I can say for AI is good luck with that one going back three hundred years.

Digging back further, I discovered that one of my ancestors and an ancestor of my friend, and Indie Scriptorium teammate, Mary McDee’s, were shipmates travelling over to England from Normandy way back when England was invaded by William the Conqueror. I wondered whether they were friends and what their conversation was like. Mary was adamant that her ancestor probably wouldn’t have had much to do with mine as they were likely different ranks. But hey, ships back then weren’t that big, so I wonder…One thing for sure, they probably weren’t discussing their latest books and giving feedback to each other on how to improve their manuscripts.

*[Photo 3: Ship in Amsterdam © L.M. Kling 2014]

Continuing on my research voyage, Mary did ask me, “What’s a good Christian girl like you writing such content of bloodshed and gore. How did you come up with such an evil character like Boris?’

As I’m exploring those murky depths of my ancestral past, I’m beginning to understand. A relative of mine once read The Hitchhiker and was so shocked she gave it a poor rating. “This is not the person I knew,” she wrote as a comment. Little did she know that my ancestors and her husband’s were not the “Sarah Janes”, “Pollyannas” or “Saint Whoever” of the past. Quite the opposite. Think of Game of Thrones which is based on the War of the Roses, and you get the picture. One was likely a bishop, though, sorry to say…

[Photo 4: The Hitch-hiker © L.M. Kling 2015]

And no, the dreams that formulated my Sci-Fi novels were seemingly not from ancestral memories from the mercenary soldier, Balthas Trudinger that the family was so ashamed of.

I looked into that and discovered that Balthas who lived at Lierheim which is a castle near Nördlingen, Bavaria, most probably belonged to the Teutonic Order. The Teutonic Order at the time of Balthas’ coming of age, had bought the castle there and were renovating it. Hitler gave the Teutonic Order a reputation as the exemplar of the all-German, all-Aryan fighting force. But once he won power, he ditched the Teutonic order­—banned them. Actually, the order from what I can glean did much good over the centuries. They started around the end of the 12th Century as guards protecting pilgrims to Jerusalem. I bet Hitler kept that fact quiet. Although it was an army that did fighting and stuff in the past, these days it’s a charitable organisation.

I could go on rabbiting, but I think that’s enough random thoughts for one day. hubby has come home and we’re off to dinner for our 37th Wedding Anniversary.

Happy Friday and hope you enjoyed your cuppa and bikkie.

If you have a Family History comment or story, I’d love you to drop a line in the comment section below.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2024

*Feature Photo: Goats on mountain near Saas Fee, Switzerland © L.M. Kling 2014

References:

Teutonic Order – Wikipedia

 Nördlingen, 1580-1700: society, government and impact of war

***

Virtual Travel Opportunity

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

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

Experience Historic Australian outback adventure with Mr. B

in

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

Or come on a trek with the T-Team in

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

Second Friday Crime–The Culvert (17)

[I’ve been considering the title of this novel. Under the Bridge was a working title, made more “working” when I discovered a recent thriller is called exactly that, “Under the Bridge”. So, time to get my thinking cap on and figure out another title. “The Culvert” had been swimming around in my head. I realised that the drain in which the victim’s remains are found is essentially a culvert. So, it has been decided, and with the team of Indie Scriptorium’s blessing, “Under the Bridge” will be renamed, “The Culvert”.

The Accident

Darlington, Fifi’s home

Fifi

Dressed in grey tracksuit pants and turquoise fleecy windcheater bought from the nearby Salvos, Fifi regarded her opponent. Dee sat opposite her at the green Formica table, masked and ready for interview.

So, this is the Dee Lillie always banged on about when they were teenagers, Fifi thought. Not so formidable now, are you, Dee Berry.

Dee pressed the record button on her smart phone and commenced, her voice muted by that mask. ‘So, Fifi, what can you tell me about Saturday night, November 29, 1980.’

‘Not much, it’s all a bit of a blur after forty plus years.’

‘Anything stand out?’

Fifi shrugged. ‘Just the usual end of year shindig and then later we saw Milo get knocked off his bike.’

Dee leaned forward and puffed through her mask. ‘Did you see the car that hit Milo?’

‘Oh, well, actually, we were quite a distance away and it was dark.’

‘Can you describe what happened? What you saw? And heard?’

‘My friend Lillie and I were up on the clifftop, on the Esplanade, sitting on a bench seat there. I heard the roar of the motorbike, then a bang. Then a cry. I looked and saw something flying up in the air and then disappear. I remember a car accelerating and the sound of the motor getting fainter and fainter.’

*[Photo 1: Afternoon glow, Sellicks Beach © L.M. Kling 2013]

‘And? What did you do then?’

Fifi sighed. ‘We went over and had a look. Freaked us out. The guy, Milo up against the pole. Obviously passed. There was quite a crowd come to look and help, so we slipped away down the ramp and to our party. We were having a bonfire. To tell them.’

‘Who attended your party and where were they when this happened?’ Dee asked.

‘Um, there was my boyfriend Sven, Lillie his sister, Jimmy my brother, and Francis Renard. Five of us. The guys were all down drinking beer around the bonfire when the accident occurred.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yeah, Lillie and I were watching them. From above. You know how it is when guys start drinking. It’s annoying. So, we had girl time.’

‘What happened when you returned?’

‘The guys sobered up with the news. They didn’t like Milo, but they would never wish any harm come to him. I remember we decided to camp there the night and sleep near the fire or in our cars. Besides, the tide had come in and the sand was too boggy to try and get out. Our cars were high up near the rocks, so they were safe from the tide coming in. But there wasn’t enough dry hard sand to get out. That’s why we camped there.’

*[Photo 2: Evening fishing at Sellicks beach © L.M. Kling 2017]

‘Then tell me what happened the following morning?’ Dee said.

Fifi sighed. ‘In the morning, the tide was out, and sea was all calm. I remember it was sunny. I had fallen asleep in my sleeping bag by the fire, and when I woke, the fire had gone out. I had refused to sleep with Sven in the car ‘cos he was still drunk.

I watched Sven step out from his Falcon. I watched banter between Sven and Jim through half-closed eyes.

‘Did that really happen?’ Jimmy said.

‘What?’ Sven lit up a cigarette.

‘Some hoon killed Milo up there. I can’t believe that really happened.’

‘Oh, I’m so sad!’ Sven replied.

I noticed Sven was wearing Milo’s polaroid sunglasses.

Crawling from my sleeping bag, I hobbled over to the Falcon. ‘Hey, just wait a minute. What’s Milo’s…How come you’re wearing Milo’s shades? That’s a bit disrespectful.’

‘Dunno, they were there, I suppose,’ Sven said. ‘‘Sides he wrecked mine!’

Fifi paused.

‘And?’ Dee asked.

Fifi shrugged. ‘That’s all I can remember. It’s over forty years ago. Nothing else sticks out.’

‘What about Lillie? Where was she?’

 ‘Oh, yes, Lillie.’ Fifi smiled. ‘Not sure, but I remember she ended up in Francis Renard’s van. With the Renard. Typical! I end up sleeping on the sand, under the stars, and everyone else wimps out and sleeps in their cars.’

‘When did Renard arrive at the party?’ Dee asked.

‘Not sure.’  Fifi frowned. ‘Had to be before the accident, ‘cos he wouldn’t have been able to drive up to the rocks where we were. The tide had come in by then.’

*[Photo 3: Waves at Sellicks Beach © L.M. Kling 2017]

Wednesday April 20, 2022, 6:30pm

Adelaide Police HQ

Dee

After reviewing the interview with Fifi, Dee jabbed the stop button on her mobile phone.

‘The mongrel!’ she snapped. ‘How dare he stand me up at my own party and hook up with Lillie! How dare he!’ Dee looked around the empty office and wrung her hands. ‘One way or another, whatever it takes, I’m going to get you, Lillie.’

Wednesday April 20, 2022, 6:30pm

Brighton Esplanade, home of El and Francis Renard

El

El studied the images on her mobile phone. She picked at the sides of the photo and enlarged it. She held the picture of Zoe against the faded photo of a slender blonde in a blue bikini.

‘Gawd, she was a beanpole,’ El muttered, ‘almost anorexic. Must ask Sven if she had any eating problems. Not normal to be so skinny.’

Francis leaned over her and said, ‘You’re just jealous.’

‘No! It’s not normal to be so skinny.’

‘Who’s that?’

El turned at locked eyes with her love. ‘You don’t remember?’

‘Er, um, well, she looks familiar…was she…one of my girlfriends?’

‘Unbelievable!’ El rolled her eyes. ‘This is Lillie. Back in the ‘80’s.’

‘Lillie? Lillie who?’

‘Your mate, Sven’s sister?’

‘Oh, her!’ Renard snorted. ‘Hardly recognised her. She’s so much bigger now.’

‘No food issue, now, then,’ El giggled.

‘Definitely not.’

El held up the two photo portraits, the mobile phone image of Zoe and the polaroid of Lillie. ‘What do you reckon? Any similarities?’

‘They both have blonde hair,’ Renard scoffed, then paused. ‘You don’t think—not Sven’s sister? I don’t think I ever…oh, maybe. There was that time…Milo’s accident. Hmmm.’

‘Worth Sven doing a DNA test?’

‘What about Lillie?’

‘And how are we going to get that to happen?’ El said. ‘I’ve been talking to Fifi, and she says that Jimmy wanted to give her a kit for her birthday, and she would have none of it.’

‘Heh,’ Renard chuckled, ‘probably knows the results and would open a can of worms. Sven says it’s all about image with that woman.’

‘Francis Renard, you are full of surprises.’ El kissed her husband. ‘So, it’s decided, we will contact Sven and suggest he do the test. Anyway, I already think he suspects he’s an uncle, again.’

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

Feature Photo: The Incoming Tide, Sellicks Beach © L.M. Kling 2017

***

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

Ready for the Weekend Friday–T-Team

The T-Team Next Generation

Tuesday July 9, 2013

Another Excuse Not to Climb the Rock

Part 2

[Eleven years ago, the T-Team, Next Generation embarked on their pilgrimage to Central Australia. Purpose: to scatter Dad’s ashes in his beloved Central Australia, in Ormiston Gorge.

Now just a teeny-weeny bit on the Family History front. I delved into some research concerning family traits. You see, the T-team pride themselves on their T-Traits (Dad stresses that the word “trait” is pronounced “tray”.) So, I decided to have a peek at what characteristics, us who are the T-Team, have that make us distinct from other families. I’ll elaborate in a future blog. But briefly, what comes to mind that aligns with the posts I read on Google, are hairline (straight but peaked up at each side of the temple), high forehead (Dad’s cousin always remarked this trait as a sign of intelligence), high cheek bones, good teeth, a penchant for puns and a certain amount of daring for adventure; hence the T-Team and their treks into the outback.

So, again, the virtual journey continues, to the Centre, Uluru and memories of that unforgettable holiday in 2013, with my brother and his family; the T-Team Next Generation.]

Marla Track

Mrs. T slept in the T-Van, while the rest of the T-Team walked the Marla Track to Kantju Gorge. There, we were awed by the caves hollowed out as if by waves crashing into them. We marvelled at the vivid red ochre paintings in rock caves carved out by the sea of time. Tourists filled these caves, spilling out the sides and edges, listening intently to the guides explaining the stories behind the artwork.

[Photo 1: Rick awed by the cave art © L.M. Kling 2013]
[Photo 2: Listening to the tour guide © L.M. Kling 2013]
[Photo 3: Cave in Uluru © L.M. Kling 2013]

‘Where’s the Indigenous guides?’ Anthony asked.

I shrugged.

We returned to the carpark near the entrance to climbing the Rock. “Closed for Cultural Reasons” the sign read this time.

Shoulders hunched; the T-Team trooped to their respective cars.

‘When will we be able to climb the Rock?’ my nephew asked his dad.

‘We’ll try again tomorrow,’ my brother replied.

[Photo 4: Still no climbers © L.M. Kling 2013]

Sunset on Uluru (July 8, 2013)

As the cloud and damp set in during the day of July 9, the T-Team congratulated themselves on completing the mission to view the sunset on the Rock the previous night. Anthony reported, ‘Alice Springs had one of its lowest temperatures ever; 8 degrees Celsius maximum.’

‘Wow! Just as well we saw the rock in all its glory last night,’ I added. ‘Dad always said that the Rock is at its best at sunset when there are clouds to the West.’

[Photo 5: Sun begins to set, its golden rays on Uluru © L.M. Kling 2013]

Someone thought that was not the case, but I argued that last night’s Uluru sunset was the best I had ever seen.

[Photo 6: Setting sun turning the Rock orange © L.M. Kling 2013]

The ever-changing colours of the massif amazed me; golden, then orange, then tangerine…until a rich deep red with the golden grasses glowing in the foreground.

[Photo 7: And tangerine © L.M. Kling 2013]
[Photo 8: Then glowing © L.M. Kling 2013]

And, with the photoshop features on my digital camera, I was able to make my image of Uluru, almost “chocolate box” quality. Not cheating, just capturing how I actually saw the famous Rock.

[Photo 9 and Feature: Chocolate Box Rock © L.M. Kling 2013]

And on that night, as I stood transfixed, taking photo after photo of the Rock, Mrs. T called out, ‘Hey! Look the other way!’

We turned.

‘Wow!’ I exclaimed. ‘What a show!’ The expanse of sky painted in every hue from yellow to crimson; the sun’s parting gift as it sank from this evening’s horizon.

[Photo 10: Desert sunset on that night © L.M. Kling 2013]

More frantic photographing ensued while most tourists ignored the glorious display behind them in preference to The Rock.

Then, as Uluru faded into monochrome shades, I overheard one fellow comment to his partner, ‘Is that all?’

[Photo 11: Colour drains from the Rock into night © L.M. Kling 2013]

The Phone Tree

Evening, and I used our portable camp stove to cook rice for tea. Anthony no longer complained about the use of the stove instead of the cooking facilities. Having skipped lunch, he was hungry, and he knew better than to expect the public BBQ to perform; especially considering a biting wind had sprung up.

The T-Lings, as they had done every night, planted their mobile phones at the base of the power pole which was not far from the BBQ. With cables attached, they left them there to charge up. ‘Would you look after our phones?’ they each asked, expecting me, as I was cooking, to keep an eye on their treasures.

[Photo 12: Dreams of campfire from the past © C.D. Trudinger 1981]

Night fell and as the wind turned bitterly cold, I made a toilet visit where I donned my thermals. On the way back from the toilet, I observed a group gathered around the communal firepit. They asked if I wanted to join, but I declined. The T-Team were playing games.

In some ways I regretted not accepting the invitation. We played card games but as the T-Crowd was too large for the small tent, I ended up playing cards outside in the cold and dark. There, half-frozen despite the best efforts of the thermal underwear, I taught my younger niece to play Patience.

Then, how pleasant it was to snuggle into our minus seven sleeping bags for sleep.

‘Oh, no!’ a T-Ling cried, then rustling. ‘Our phones!’

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2020; update 2024

Feature Photo: Chocolate Box Rock © L.M. Kling 2013

***

Virtual Travel Opportunity

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

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

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

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

Second Friday Crime–Under the Bridge (16)

`

Wood from Tasmania

Tuesday, April 19, 2022,10am —1pm

Norwood, home of Lillie and Jimmy Edwards

Lillie

School holidays and Lillie relished the slower pace. Morning workout at the gym, working off the cakes and sweet buns and the excess that had gathered around her waist and thighs. Only six weeks to get in shape for her 60th.

Then Burnside Village for essential shopping. Clothes and shoes. Plus, hairdresser to colour and shape her whitening locks. Hairdresser suggested bronze streaks to compliment the blonde. Walked out looking like a porcupine and $300 less on her debit card. Swore never to go there again, but…somehow knows she will. Convenient and better the devil you know, so they say.

*[Photo 1: Echidna © L.M. Kling 2017]

Lunch at the French Café with Tiffy, her daughter. Tiffy on about family history and over coffee she asked, ‘Mum, why don’t you get your DNA done?’

‘Why do I need to?’ Lillie retorted. ‘We are pure German stock, and you know everybody and their mother in our family have been digging up our ancestry. Haven’t you seen the five thick books in our library? If I want to find out where I came from, I just look in them.’

‘But Mum, von Erikson is not a very German-sounding name. More like Dutch. Just think, you might have Viking blood.’

‘Hmmm, Vikings were from Scandinavia, more like Norway, dear. And besides, your grandfather, rest his soul, came from Hamburg. Von also denotes aristocracy. Dad’s ancestors owned a castle. As I said, dear, it’s all in the family history books.’

*[Photo 2: What better castle than this—Neuschwanstein © L.M. Kling 2014]

‘But Mum, wouldn’t you want to find out what happened to Grandpa?’ Tiffy stroked the side of her cup. ‘He just sort of vanished. Who knows, maybe he ran off and started another family.’

Lillie’s stomach churned. ‘How’s your love life, dear?’ she bared her teeth and braced herself waiting for the inevitable response.

This time, Tiffy didn’t hold back. She smiled and said, ‘Oh, Mum, you’ll never guess. I’ve found someone special.’

 ‘Oh, time for some celebration,’ Lillie clapped, ‘let’s share your favourite apple cheesecake, and you can tell me all about him. It is him? Not her?’

Tiffy rolled her eyes. ‘Him! His name is Jacob, and he works at Woolworths.’

‘Woolworths? Couldn’t you do better? I mean, at least date someone with a proper job?’

‘Mum! How insulting! You always spoil everything with your impossible standards.’ Tiffy snatched up her smart phone and stood up. ‘Nothing’s ever good enough for you. I’m leaving.’

Tiffy stomped a few paces from the table. Then turned. ‘You know, Mum, you’ll never be satisfied. You want your perfect daughter to be a lawyer or some such high fancy thing. Well, I’ve got news for you, it’s not going to happen. So, suck it up and deal with it.’

With that final comment, her daughter swung around and marched out of the café.

After Lillie paid the bill for both of them, and also made a hasty exit.

While grocery shopping, Lillie chuckled. At least the DNA minefield had once again, been diverted. What is it with this craze to find one’s DNA? I don’t want to be responsible for sending one of my descendants, if I ever have more than Tiffy and…and…whoever she is, to jail because they use my DNA to trace them, she thought. Or long-lost secrets to be unearthed.

[Photo 3: Autumn Glow © L.M. Kling 2024]

Lillie then mounted her brand-new Mitsubishi Pajero and wended her way home through the leafy streets of Norwood. A magic time of year when leaves change colour, red, golden and rusty brown. The light on this autumn day was golden, and the air had a hazy warmth to it.

She rolled into the double driveway. To her left she noticed a white Toyota Hilux with Tasmanian number plates filling the space.

A slight blonde woman who appeared aged around thirty leant up against the Toyota chatting to her husband. Smiling, flicking her long blonde hair. Flirting. Jimmy, exuding a youthful charm despite his plus sixty years. Jimmy lapping up the attention of the younger version of herself.

Lillie’s first thought was, Not another, younger woman. Her entanglement with the Frenchman, Renard all those years ago, had left her scarred. Jealousy.

Lillie pulled the Pajero to an abrupt stop and jumped out. She marched to her husband. ‘Hi, there, love,’ she called out. Then claimed him with a hug and a kiss. On the lips.

Jimmy beamed and turned to the young lady. ‘Lillie, this is Zoe from Strahan, I’ve been telling you about. She’s over here delivering my wood.’

‘Yeah, um,’ Zoe waved, ‘Pleased to meet you, Lillie. I was coming over on family business and as I waz in the neighbourhood, I thought I’d deliver the wood personally. Waz going to fly, but no flights available. So, drove. Glad I did.’

‘Isn’t it great?’ Jimmy rubbed his hands together. ‘It’s so hard to get timber these days. I’ll be able to start on those guitars I’ve been planning for I don’t know how long.’

There were minutes of awkward silence as Lillie studied Zoe, Zoe looked away and Jimmy stared off into the not-so-distant hills.

*[Photo 4: Timber cut path, Tahune, Tasmania © L.M. Kling 2016]

Zoe broke the spell. ‘Well, I better get going. I’m meeting my dad at the hotel in Magill.’ She climbed into her Hilux and waved again. ‘Nice meetin’ ya, Lillie. See ya, Jim.’

The couple waved in return as the Hilux backed out the drive and spirited down the leafy street.

After the truck had gone, Lillie faced Jimmy. ‘Bit young for you, Jim.’

Jimmy glanced away and replied, ‘Oh, yeah, but…I had no idea she’d turn up…it’s business…’

‘Yeah, right, so you say.’

Jimmy giggled. ‘Although, you have to admit, she does remind me of you when you were…’

Lillie shook her fist. ‘What do you mean? She looks nothing like me. Take that back.’

‘No, dear, you’re right, she looks nothing like you. Sorry for mentioning it and upsetting you.’

Too late. Lillie ranted and raged for the next half hour while Jimmy scraped, bowed and offered apologies to appease her. Lillie enjoyed watching her husband grovel and beg for his dinner. Then, they agreed to have takeaway delivery. Chinese. And together watch a classic movie from their favourite streaming service. On the couch. Eating lemon chicken and spicy fried rice. While sipping a sparkling glass of white wine.

Tuesday 19 April 2022, 6pm

Tower Hotel, Magill

Eloise

Eloise and Sven pretended to peruse their menus. Not that there was much to peruse. Just the usual hotel fare. A variety of burgers, fish and chips on offer, and steak and chips. The menu was simplified since the last time Eloise had graced the hotel with her presence as a police officer.

She watched Renard fidgeting with his glass of beer. Glancing up at the entrance every few seconds. Looking. Hoping. He had voiced his concerns to Eloise as they drove up. Maybe Zoe had second thoughts and won’t come. Did he provide too much information about his wild past? Perhaps he shouldn’t have written about sowing wild oats. Oh, dear. He must appear too wild for her taste.

Eloise had assured him that she’d be there. And all will be fine. Treat it like an adventure. At least there’s no film crew, she had joked. Besides, they share the same DNA, so perhaps she’ll be wild too and understand.

Still Renard fidgeted.

Sohan 61-0412545557

*[Photo 5: Cook ya own steak © L.M. Kling 2017]

‘I’m going to have the steak. Well done,’ Sven said.

As he spoke, a slim blonde woman, approached Francis Renard. He stood up. Smiled. They hugged. And then they sat down.

Eloise transferred her attention from the menu to her smart phone. She flicked through the photos scanned from Fifi’s 1980’s photo album.

Sven peered over the table. ‘Any likely suspects?’

Eloise shrugged. ‘Hard to tell. The quality is seriously bad.’

Sven surveyed the pair. ‘Could be anyone’s. I mean, at youth group the girls were all blonde. Oh, except for a couple of brunettes. Oh, and I do remember Renard once went out with a Japanese girl. From Japan.’

Eloise swayed her head, then asked, ‘Are you going to order? I’ll have the Caesar salad with chicken.’

‘Wine?’

‘No, just water.’ Eloise nodded at the father and daughter. ‘And a closer look.’

Sven collected the menus and glided past the persons of interest.

[Photo 6: Matching Mother and daughter © C. D. Trudinger 1975]

When he returned, Eloise leaned over. ‘Well?’

‘Hard to tell, actually. It’s quite dark in…’ he paused; his eyes grew wide. ‘O-oh!’

‘What?’

‘I don’t believe it!’ Sven slid down in his seat and covered his face. ‘Not her!’

Eloise twisted around and looked in the direction of Sven’s terror. ‘Is that your…ex? Fifi?’

With hands covering his face, Sven nodded.

Eloise mouthed, “Oh my God!”

‘You can say that again, she’s coming in our direction.’

The curvaceous woman with strawberry blonde curls strutted up to the table. ‘Oh, hi, Eloise, Sven, fancy meeting you here.’

Eloise thinned her lips and whispered, ‘Hi, Fifi, we’d ask you to join us…but…’ pointing to the table where Renard and Zoe sat, ‘delicate operation.’

‘What the heck, Fifi, join us,’ Sven stood and pulled out a chair.

‘Oh, is that okay. If you insist.’ Fifi plonked herself down in the offered chair. She plucked up a spare menu from a neighbouring empty table. ‘What do you recommend?’

Neither Eloise nor Sven replied.

While fingering the menu, Fifi continued, ‘By the way, I had a call from a detective Dee Berry. She’s looking into the Milo Katz accident.’

Sven glared at Fifi. ‘I hope you haven’t dropped me in it. I had enough trouble…’

Fifi made the sign of the cross. ‘I haven’t said a word. I haven’t spoken to the lady yet.’

Sven turned and locked his gaze on Fifi. ‘Keep your bl@#%y mouth shut.’ He then rose from the table and stormed out of the bistro.

Fifi and Eloise glanced at each other.

‘What was that about?’ Eloise asked.

‘Bit of an overreaction,’ Fifi replied while observing Renard and Zoe. ‘Well, what d’ya know. She’s the clone of Lillie.’

Eloise’s lips spread into a wide smile. ‘Thank you, Fifi, I knew you’d figure it out.’

‘At your service,’ Fifi chuckled. ‘You don’t think that’s why old Dee is poking around, do you?’

‘’Fraid not. Strictly possible murder investigation, according to inside sources…’ Eloise lowered her voice, ‘Dan.’

‘Ooh, nasty, I always suspected Sven, but could never…you know.’

Eloise rose her voice. ‘Sven?’

‘Yes, Sven.’

A waiter balancing two plates, one with steak, the other with salad, approached the table.

‘Looks like you’re having the steak,’ Eloise said.

Fifi held up her hand as the waiter placed the steak before her. ‘Fine with me,’ she said.

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

Feature Photo: Autumn Glow © L.M. Kling 2024

***

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

Fifth Friday with Art–Bunyip Chasm

Story Behind the Painting: Bunyip Chasm

[In memory of my father clement David Trudinger (13-1-1928—25-8-2012)]

You need to loosen up with your painting,’ my art teacher said.

So, with a palette-knife, I did with…

Feature Painting: In Search of Bunyip Chasm, Gammon Ranges, South Australia—acrylic on canvas with palette knife. © L.M. Kling 1990

THE BIRTH OF “BUNYIP CHASM”—THE PAINTING

Over the Easter break in 1986, Dad took my boyfriend (future husband) and me to the Gammon Ranges. Dad had gone there the previously with his photographer friend and he was keen to show us some of the scenic secrets these ranges held.

We bumped and rolled in Dad’s four-wheel drive Daihatsu down the track into the Gammon Ranges. We camped near Grindell’s Hut, backpackers’ accommodation. A murder-mystery from the early Twentieth Century involving the hut’s owner, spiced our discussion around the campfire that night. Then we set up a tent, for boyfriend, on the ground above the bank of the creek. I placed my bedding also above the creek under the stars. Dad opted for his “trillion-star” site underneath a river gum. No tent for him, either.

[Photo 1: The Daihatsu © L.M. Kling 1986]

The next day Dad guided us along the Balcanoona creek bed shaded by native pines to Bunyip Chasm. After an hour or two of hobbling over rounded river stones, we arrived at a dead-end of high cliffs.

[Photo 2: Balcanoona Creek, beginning our hike © L.M. Kling 1986]
[Photo 3: Trekking of the T-K Team in search of Bunyip chasm © L.M. Kling 1986]
[Photo 4: Waiting for me to catch up © L.M. Kling 1984]

‘Is this it?’ my boyfriend asked. ‘Is this Bunyip Chasm?’

‘I think so,’ Dad said as he squinted at the waterfall splashing over the cliffs. ‘It looks familiar.’

‘I don’t see any chasm,’ I said.

‘Just wait a minute,’ Dad said and then disappeared through some scraggly-looking bushes.

I waited and took photos of the water spattering over dark cliffs set against a cobalt blue sky.

[Photo 5: Is this it? The end of the gully with cliffs dotted with native pines © L.M. Kling 1984]

[Photo 6: Water cascading over cliffs © L.M. Kling 1984]

Dad tramped back to us. ‘It’s over here. The water’s deeper than last year, so I don’t think we can go through.’

We trekked after Dad, pushing the bushes and then reeds aside. There, the split in the hillside, and a deep pool of water lurking in the shadows.

[Photo 7: Beginnings of Bunyip Chasm © L.M. Kling 1984]

‘Do you think we can swim through?’ I asked. I had worn my bathers in the hope of swimming in a waterhole.

‘Nah, it’s too deep and cold,’ Dad said. ‘I wouldn’t risk it.’ Dad then scanned the surrounding cliffs and shook his head.

I took more photos of the cliffs, hillside and of course the chasm.

[Photo 8: Waterfall near Bunyip Chasm © L.M. Kling 1984]

‘Come on, we better get back,’ Dad said and then started to hike back the way we came.

We trailed after Dad. Although native pine trees shaded our path, the hiking made me thirst for a waterhole in which to swim. I gazed up at the lacework of deep blue green against the sky and then, my boot caught on a rock. I stumbled. My ankle rolled and twisted. I cried out. ‘Wait!’

[Photo 9: Afternoon return to camp © L.M. Kling 1984]

‘What?’ the men said at the same time.

‘I hurt my ankle; I need to soak it in cold water.’

Dad stamped his foot. ‘Well, hurry up. We have to get back to camp before dark.’

I pulled off my jeans and t-shirt.

‘What are you doing?’ my boyfriend asked.

‘I’m soaking my ankle; I twisted it, and I learnt in first aid that you need to apply a cold compress to it.’

Boyfriend put his hands-on hips and sighed.

I gave him my camera. ‘Here, take a photo of me in the pool.’

Boyfriend swayed his head. But as I soaked my foot and the rest of me—any excuse for a swim—boyfriend took my photo.

[Photo 10: My Foot-soaking pool © A.N. Kling 1984]

[Photo 11: Waiting for me to foot-soak © L.M. Kling 1984]

After about ten minutes, with my ankle still swollen and sore, I hobbled after the men. We climbed down a short waterfall and at the base, I looked back. The weathered trunk of an old gum tree leaned over the stream, three saplings basked in the late-afternoon sunlight against the sienna-coloured rocks, and clear water rushed and frothed over the cascading boulders and into pond mirroring the trees and rocks above.

‘Stop! Wait!’ I called to the men.

‘We have to keep on going,’ Dad said and disappeared into the distance.

Boyfriend waited while I aimed my camera at the perfect scene and snapped several shots.

[Photo 12: The scene that inspired the painting © L.M. Kling 1984]

Then holding hands, we hiked along the creek leading to our campsite and Dad.

‘I’m going to paint that little waterfall,’ I said.

We walked in silence, enjoying the scenery painted just for us—the waves of pale river stones, the dappled sunlight through the pines, and a soft breeze kissing our skin.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2016; updated 2020; 2024

Feature painting: In Search of Bunyip Chasm © L.M. Kling 1990

***

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

Click here on the links:

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

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

And escape in time and space to Central Australia 1981…

Second Friday Crime–Under the Bridge (15)

The Indiscretions of Overtime

Tuesday April 12, 2022, 6pm

Adelaide CBD Police HQ

Dan

Dan sighed as he filled in the archive retrieval request form. ‘Things I do for her majesty—Eloise Delaney.’

Under reason for retrieval, he wrote, “Relevant to cold case, the fatal accident of Milo Katz.” He had a hunch, but that was all. Had a gut feeling back in 1981 when he was a recruit, and the youth group was a-buzz with the sudden and tragic death of Milo. Something about his then friend, Sven’s behaviour in the weeks after the road accident had disturbed Dan, but being a trainee policeman, Dan put his head down, stuck it in the proverbial sand, and got on with training.

Dan recalled Christmas Eve, Sunday School kids doing their nativity play and Sven never came into the church hall to watch. Just kept loitering out in the carpark, smoking. Cigarette after cigarette. Even his girlfriend, Fifi couldn’t persuade him to join in the festivities.

*[Photo 1: Nativity Scene © L.M. Kling 2017]

While Dan hunted in the rolling file cabinets, he nodded and murmured, ‘Sven and Fifi, bonded over missing dads.’ Never discussed. Never. They went missing and their existence vanished with them.

Curious about information the police might have on the elusive von Erikson, he spotted the man’s name on a box on the middle shelf. Detective Dan Hooper pulled out a file titled, “Jan Von Erikson”. The one slip of paper described a disturbance on January 1, at 2:00am, 1977. One word dismissed the event. “Domestic”.

The account read, “Police were called to a disturbance at the home of Jan von Erikson in Somerton. Neighbours had heard loud shouting and glass smashing and called the police to attend. Police in attendance described the perpetrator, Mr. von Eriksson as drunk, belligerent, and angry.”

Dan flipped the page. No mention of von Erikson’s disappearance. No one asked. No one said. Had he disappeared? Or was it all in his youthful imagination?

He stared at the page. 1977, and he recalled Sven turning up to youth group with a brand-new Ford Falcon XB. Shiny red, as he remembered. Dan had been so envious that Sven, a contract labourer, could afford a shiny, red Ford Falcon XB. How could he? Sven was, what, nineteen? Same age as he was. And Dan knew he, at nineteen and a poor police cadet, didn’t have enough money in the bank to buy such an expensive car. Darn! He had to settle for a run-down, ten-year old Ford Cortina. Courtesy of church friend of the family, Gracie Katz.

[Photo 2: Brother’s Charger bogged in the creek, Flinders Ranges © L.M. Kling 1984]

The detective scanned the single sheet of paper with his phone and mumbled, ‘Something fishy here. Delaney’s onto something.’

After placing the Jan von Erikson file on the shelf, Dan moved the rolling cabinet to the 1978 section. He used a ladder to lift the cream and brown file box from the top shelf titled “Missing Persons, Percy Edwards”.

‘At least his Missus did the right thing,’ Dan said.

He hauled the box out and lugged it over to a desk. Under the light of a wide green hooded accountant’s lamp, Dan leafed through the wad of notes. Witness statements, leads, and character references.

Percy Edwards was a respectable businessman who dealt in antique furniture, art auctions, valuations and insurance. He belonged to the Ford car club which seemed odd to Dan. He remembered Percy from church as a man who exuded airs and graces, who he imagined preferring the elegance of a Mercedes Benz, rather than the common Ford.

Dan chuckled remembering a friend of his, Leigh who had gone camping with his family and Percy and his son Jimmy had come along too. Percy had never gone “roughing it” in the bush before and had complained endlessly, from the start of the camping trip to the finish. Leigh’s Dad never invited the high and mighty Percy on a camping trip again. Not that Percy would’ve gone after suffering the indignities of sleeping on stony ground under the stars.

*[Photo 3: Million-star accommodation with the T-team © C.D. Trudinger 1981]

Jimmy was okay about camping, though. He became a regular for youth group camps, hikes, and the road trip to Western Australia. In Perth, Jimmy was arrested after drinking beer in a public place and spent the night in the lock up. On camps, everyone appreciated the entertainment Jimmy provided with his strong singing voice and his acoustic guitar. He remembered the not-so-complimentary songs Jimmy made up about his father. That was before he disappeared. Jimmy lost his music mojo for years after his father mysteriously left. Started munching through packets of crisps instead.

Dan photographed page after page of the Edwards file. Boxes of evidence must not leave the storage facility. Percy Edwards fine upstanding citizen. Percy Edwards tall, distinguished, moustache, patting Jimmy on his head calling him, “Ma boy”.

Mrs. Edwards, otherwise known as “Primrose the plentiful” (yes, you got it, her real name was Primrose) as she had borne the illustrious Lord of the Edwards manor, eight children. Always pregnant or breastfeeding, yet eternally immaculate, black hair coiffured in a beehive to perfection, and with fashion sense that made her a trendsetter amongst the ladies. President of the church ladies guild, fantastic fundraiser, chairman of the local school’s Parents and Friends association, and all-round super mum. As some of the younger girls at youth group used to say about her, “What a woman!”

Dan smiled remembering how when her husband walked out the door and never returned, Primrose Edwards persevered. She worked on the checkout at the local supermarket, studied part-time and made full use of her mothering skills to become a teacher, and by gum, an exceptionally good teacher.

He thought then of Lillie. It was Mrs. Edward’s tenacity that inspired that socially awkward yet attractive girl Lillie to train to be a teacher. What ever happened to Lillie? he wondered. Is she still teaching?

His youth group had all grown up and drifted. Like Mr. Edwards they had disappeared into their grown-up lives. However, unlike Mr. Edwards, they were still traceable.

And Mrs. Primrose Edwards, was she still alive? Dan made a note to check the birth, deaths and marriage records. Or he could just ask Fifi, the encyclopaedia of life and everyone in Adelaide. Primrose was her mother. Besides, since Eloise was friends with Fifi, all he’d have to do is ask to have a chat with Fifi.

‘Who needs Google when you have Fifi,’ Dan laughed as he finished the final pages of scanning.

[Photo 4: Adelaide Flower Festival © S.O. Gross circa 1960]

Dan entered the lift at the basement and as it propelled him upwards to the ground floor, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

‘Hello Dee,’ Dan spoke.

‘Hey, Dan, I’ve been searching all day,’ Dee said, ‘you don’t happen to have a number for Sven von Erikson?’

‘Hey, Dee,’ Dan chuckled, ‘you must be psychic. I was just thinking of him. Why?’

‘Um, I think he might be key to the investigation.’

‘What? How?’ Dan stepped out of the lift and onto the ground floor.

‘Well, I have found out that he had a red Ford Falcon. Didn’t Mr. Wilke who we saw a few weeks ago say that the motorbike was struck by a red painted car?’

‘Oh, oh, yes, I’d forgotten about Mr. Wilke. Yes, follow that up.’ Dan strode to his desk and packed up his laptop. It’s going to be a long night. ‘Good work Dee.’

‘By the way, did you remember that I interviewed Lillie Edwards, formerly von Erikson, today?’ Dee sounded proud of herself.

‘What?’ Dan dropped his laptop. It thudded on the table. ‘How? How did you…?’

‘When I read the reports, I remembered Lillie from school days. Small world, isn’t it?’

‘Well, I’ll be. It is Adelaide after all. Anything useful?’

‘Maybe. That’s why I would like to speak to Sven her brother. And there was a friend of hers she was always hanging around with. Fifi? Married Sven. Was, I mean.’

Dan snorted. ‘Welcome to the family. I’ll send through the contact details.’

‘You have them?’

‘Yes, just not on me at the moment.’ Dan wasn’t about to plop Eloise, his former partner fighting crime into the conversation. He avoided triggers of the Dee kind as Dee and Eloise never got on. ‘I’ll text them to you as soon as, okay.’

‘Great!’ Dee replied. ‘Bye.’

‘Great work, Dee. Catch you in the morning,’ Dan said and tapped the red button. Must make note to send Dee the details, he murmured while leaving the office.

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

*Feature Photo: Not exactly a Ford, but red. Note the Cortina in the background © Courtesy of R. Trudinger circa 1983

***

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Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.

Sometimes real life is just real life.

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Dan recalled Christmas Eve, Sunday School kids doing their nativity play and Sven never came into the church hall to watch. Just kept loitering out in the carpark, smoking. Cigarette after cigarette. Even his girlfriend, Fifi couldn’t persuade him to join in the festivities.