Tomorrow is March. March, a time to remember my Grandma who was born in March and also died in March. Below is a tribute and celebration of the life and legacy of Elsa Anna Gross (nee Basedow).
family
Friday Crime–The Culvert (24a)
Fallout
Norwood
Saturday, May 1, 2022
1:00 to 10:00pm
El
When the football hammered on her favourite station, El switched to her USB drive and cheerful strains of Vivaldi swung into action. Nothing like this energetic Italian composer to get El into the mood for painting. Today, Lillie Edwards awaited another Saturday portraiture session.
El sighed as she replayed a rather awkward conversation with Dan. He so much wanted her to return to the force. El had put off the inevitable as long as possible. The longer she was away from the pressure of policing, the longer she enjoyed the luxury of sleeping in, and spending each day as she pleased, the less she was inclined to return to the drudgery of work. After all, she loved painting. Why spend days, weeks, months years behind a desk drowning in paperwork? Why waste time running multiple steps behind chasing criminals? Then, why spend all her hours again behind a desk researching, building up a case, just to watch the guilty slip through her virtual fingertips when at court, a clever defence lawyer convinces a jury to find them innocent?
With painting, she witnessed pleasant results in a few hours of dibbing and daubing while listening to her favourite podcast. Admittedly, lately, a certain crime story podcast was her go to of the month. Somehow, listening to crime stories proved more therapeutic than being involved in actual crime solving. Or so she told herself…
‘Would you consider returning to the force, El?’ Dan asked, desperation in his voice. ‘There’s nothing to stop you, now.’
‘I’ll think about it, and get back to you,’ El replied. The thought of returning to work, fighting the peak hour morning traffic, battling to find a park, and the daily grind of managing unruly people, set El’s teeth on edge.
That conversation happened on Tuesday.
Friday, Dan called again. He had asked, what was her decision.
While gazing out at the rolling waves from her wall to ceiling window, and still dressed in her dressing gown, El said, ‘I’m sorry, Dan, I’m not ready to come back.’
‘But why?’
‘I need more time.’ Just couldn’t break it to him that she really didn’t feel like ever returning. ‘The stress of the last couple of years has taken its toll.’
‘Oh, please reconsider, El.’ Dan’s voice softened to a whisper. ‘Just between you and me, Dee is driving me crazy. With her bean-counting.’
‘And her paranoia, no doubt.’ El snipped. ‘Look, it’s people like her that make the job an issue for me.’
‘But what about the challenge, the thrill of solving a case?’
‘Hmm, only to see it all fall apart and dissolve in court. And people like Dee who with their darn bean counting miss the whole point and give the defence lawyers a win on a silver platter.’ El shook her head. ‘Nah, I’m done.’
‘What? I thought you said you just needed more time.’ Dan sounded hurt.
‘Oh, I mean, for now. But if I decide not to return, I may still consider being a private detective. Be my own boss and bypass Dee and her cronies.’
‘Oh…but…’
‘Face it, Dan, I’ve had it up to here with the government and how they’ve treated us.’
‘But we need more…’ Dan sounded sad.
‘I know.’ El shifted in her seat on the lounge chair. Guilty. ‘Downward spiral. Less workers. More work for those left. Crime goes up. But-er-I’m pretty fragile at the moment. I can’t take the pressure.’
Renard chuckled in the background. ‘Can’t blame ya, they have treated public servants poorly. I’d quit too, if I was you.’
El turned and glared at Renard who pretended to concentrate on the newspaper crossword. She placed her finger on her mouth. ‘Shh!’
‘And you think I don’t have problems, El?’ Dan snapped. ‘You know, I’d much rather be an outback cop, on the coalface, than having to put up with all this cr—I mean politics here in the city. I mean, with all the demands put on me, I don’t have a life. It’s just work, and sleep. Hell, and then I can’t sleep because this cold case has got under my skin.’
‘Is it personal, Dan?’
‘Hell, yeah, it’s personal.’ Dan’s tone had a sense of urgency. ‘I mean, I remember Jimmy and Lillie Edwards from youth group. I remember when Lillie’s father Jan disappeared. And then, a year later, Percy, Jimmy’s father vanished. So strange. So strange.’
‘Perhaps, then, you are too involved,’ El said with a sniff, ‘you need to step back from it. perspective, remember. After all, just a thought, who says they didn’t run off together?’
‘Yeah, yeah, but something about the whole case doesn’t sit right. I can’t rest until I…’
‘Sounds like a rabbit hole, Dan.’
‘Well, let’s just say, Dee’s already dived in and buried herself in it. And so, I have to go along and pull her out.’ Heavy breathing. ‘That’s why I wanted you to consider coming back. Helping. I mean, you came to me with the cold case. You asked me. The least you could do is…’
‘I know. I know. I regret that. Moment of weakness.’ El clenched her fists. Be strong. Resist temptation. ‘Sorry, Dan, no can do. I’ve reconsidered and I’ve got to put my mental health first, or I’ll be no use to anyone.’
‘Not even now we’ve found a body?’ Dan urged. ‘Not even a little bit curious?’
‘No, Dan.’
‘Please, can’t you just find some time to do some digging. In an unofficial capacity, perhaps? Please?’
Renard swayed his head while filling in a crossword clue. ‘He’s desperate.’
‘You know that’s not…’
‘If you could just…I mean, I have a family…I’m so busy, Leo, my son has gone rogue. I think he has a girlfriend but…I don’t know where he is half the time. And I haven’t seen my girlfriend Jemima and our daughter Bella in weeks.’
El sighed. Nothing like a guilt trip to make her give in. ‘Alright, I’ll see what I can…’
‘Thank you! Thank you! I’ll send the details of discovery your way. Thank you.’
El pulled up in the wide driveway of the Edwards’ mansion. Just what she didn’t need, another hidden agenda behind the portrait session in honour of Lillie Edwards. Somehow, she envisioned the rabbit hole of the Edwards-Von Erikson cold case drawing her into its vortex too.
She giggled. Perhaps there was something in that idea that Percy and Jan had run off together. Then again, perhaps things turned sour, and Jan, in disguise, had given Percy the “heave-ho”. A variation on that famous cold case back in the ‘70’s of the body in the freezer.
El smiled and nodded while alighting from the car. Yes, she might start with that story and see if she sensed a reaction from Lillie.
Lillie, wearing a flowing, rainbow-coloured poncho, welcomed El into her mansion.
‘Sorry about the clutter, El,’ Lillie waved a hand at the stacks of books and piles of papers, tableaus ready to dance on what was intended to be a ballroom floor. ‘Every holidays, I intend to tackle that lot, but…’
While skirting the newspaper piles at the edge of the open hallway, Lillie led El to the spare bedroom come art studio. Freshly brewed coffee percolated its aroma, filling the room. Lillie glided over to the table holding the coffee and a silver standing tray with a pyramid of cupcakes laden with icing. El mused, pink icing with cupcake. Would she scrape off the icing and eat the cake? Risk offending her portrait muse and host who had gone to all that trouble, slaving the whole morning buying those cupcakes from the local bakery?
‘Coffee? Cupcake?’ Lillie’s shrill voice shook El out of her sugar-frosted nightmare.
El politely smiled and said, ‘I’ll have some coffee, but, um, I’ll need to pass on the cake. My sugar levels were a bit up, so I need to…’
‘But they are gluten-free.’
Before El could make another lame excuse, a cake appeared on a Noritake plate graced with delicate grey leaves and accompanied by a matching cup and saucer filled with coffee and cream.
‘I thought we could have some afternoon tea before you get down to painting,’ Lillie said while biting into her icing with cupcake. Gluten-free. ‘I’m sure that’s how that famous artist on the ABC does it.’
‘Get to know the subject—I mean, person he’s painting, you mean?’ El said, then sipped her coffee. ‘So, in that vein, let me ask about your childhood. Where did you grow up?’
From that question, more followed with the answers. No painting that afternoon, only more coffee, more cake, then biscuits which were brought in by Lillie’s husband, Jimmy—interesting—and finally, to keep the conversation flowing, some white wine, a Moscato, from MacLaren Vale. By the time the wine appeared, Jimmy had joined the party and El mused that this was the most successful informal interview she’d ever performed.
© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2025
***
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
Friday Crime–The Culvert 23b
The Boy Next Door
Lillie
My first memory of the verboten was the kitchen floor. Every Saturday afternoon, the kitchen floor took on the status of holy floor. Floor that has been washed with the sacred waters of floor cleaner and left untrodden to dry.
‘Don’t walk over the floor!’ Mum would yell after she had cleansed the linoleum floor. I looked with longing at the floor red with the gold and silver flecks in it. Inevitably I committed the sin of trespass on the holy floor of the kitchen and tracked a trail of my tell-tale footprints.
‘I told you not to walk on the floor!’ Mum would growl and smack me on the bottom.
But I had a good reason to walk on the sacred wet linoleum. It’s because Mum would excommunicate me into the backyard of boredom, so that she could get the cleaning done. And it’s because after she had shrouded the floor with water and soap, I would have to pee. The only way to the toilet of relief, was through the kitchen over the sacred floor.
As I grew up, the kitchen was barricaded during floor-cleaning sessions. Out of desperation, curiosity and loneliness in the backyard on Saturday afternoons, I became acquainted with the family next door. More particularly, the verboten made a gradual shift from kitchen floor to the boy and girl next door. I mean, really, Mum with her sacred floor business, brought the grief upon herself. If she had washed the floor during the week and not made such an issue of it on Saturday afternoons, I may never ventured next door. Their loo was available because their Mum washed the floor during the week, if she washed the floor at all under all the rubble of clothing from a large and uncontrollable rabble of children.
Jimmy proved attractive to me because of my parent’s opposition. Fifi, his sister, Jimmy and I were childhood friends. According to my parents, especially Mum, they were not good enough. I was told not to play with them. So, play with Fifi and Jimmy I did, and their multitude of brothers and sisters. We would romp through the jungle of their backyard of unmown lawn. The weeds were as high as us children. The family were working class and faking their Christian faith, my father would say. He still accepted a position at Mr. Edwards’s factory, but…And later, once Dad was gone, she was only too happy to accept Percy Edwards’s help.
My mother had her eye on the well-to do family, the Hoopers, around the corner whose two sons were progressing towards careers into law and medicine.
Mum would say, “The kids next door will never amount to anything.”
When Jimmy took me for a dinky ride on his bike and we returned home after dark, I was grounded. I hated being grounded. By the end of the week, I vowed not to play with Jimmy again. He was a bad influence. However, Saturday and the sacred floor rolled around again, and so did Jimmy on his Dragstar bike.
‘Come on! No one’s goin’ to know! Just one ride!’ he said.
The sun shone, the sky blue and my parents were out. We were off, pedalling down the gravel driveway where we nearly collided with my returning parents in their FJ Holden.
I had a choice, I could suffer another week’s grounding or have the indignity of a smack of the ruler across my hand. I took the ruler option and learnt to be more devious in the future. There are many ways to cross a wet kitchen floor without being caught. There were means and ways of continuing my friendship with Jimmy and Fifi without catching the ire of my parents. But then after their father deserted them, the enormous family moved.
I wonder what ever happened to that man.
Perhaps life would have been different if he’d hung around. Not that they missed old Mr. Edwards. Life seemed to improve for Jimmy and his family after he’d gone.
And despite, or should I say, in spite of my mother’s protestations, I ended up marrying Jimmy Edwards. I guess in my mother’s estimation, Jimmy being a musician didn’t amount to much, but me, I’m successful. Principal of a prestigious school, how good is that.
Shame mum’s not around to see that. Although, she would definitely be turning in her grave if she knew I’m still married Jim.
Now, those Hooper boys from around the corner…one of them was Dan, I remember. I wonder what happened to him. Did he become the lawyer my mother always said he was going to grow up to be?
El
El paused; painting brush poised in above the canvas. ‘Oh, Dan? Dan Hooper?’
Lillie raised an eyebrow. ‘You know him?’
El cleared her throat. Better not say too much or she’ll start to suspect. Change the subject. ‘Actually, I knew his brother, Al.’
‘Oh, yes, Al, the younger one. Bit weedy and pimply as I remember. So, did he become a doctor?’
El nodded. ‘He did…a psychiatrist, I think. But it was a long time ago and I think he had some crisis in his life and had a career change.’
Lillie snorted. ‘A mid-life crisis?’
‘You could say that.’
‘So, what career did he change to?’
‘Um…’ El bit her lip and dabbed the nose of Lillie’s painted image. ‘Teaching, I think.’
‘Haven’t heard of any Al Hooper in my domain.’
El smudged Lillie’s painted mouth. Oops! ‘I think he didn’t stay that long in teaching before he went into working for the secret service, ASIO, or something like that…’ El mumbled.
‘I’ll have to look him up,’ Lillie said breezily.
‘Good luck,’ El muttered.
‘What did you say?’
‘Nothing, but, um, I don’t think he’s got a digital profile, being in the secret service or whatever it is.’
‘Oh, you really don’t know; do you dear?’
El shrugged and wiped her mistake with her thumb. ‘So, tell me more about this Old Mr. Edwards. What was he like?’
At that moment, Jimmy reappeared in the studio. He held a tray with three flutes of sparkling wine.
‘Sparkling, anyone?’ he said.
© Tessa Trudinger 2025
*Feature Photo: Backyard © L.M. Kling 2021
***
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
Remembering Dad–100-Word Challenge
Games days, Central Australian pilgrimmages, his garden, golf, table tennis…always having to win. These are the things that spring to mind when I remember my dad. Last Monday, he would’ve turned 97 if he hadn’t left this Earth for a more perfect life in heaven in 2012.
Another defining memory of Dad was his cars, except for his first one, a Gogo mobile, the rest were cheap, second-hand and the “that’ll do for the time being variety”.
This week I look back at the memory of one of these cars in the 100-word challenge.
[Driving around Adelaide these days, I see many classic cars. Brings back memories of our family cars from my childhood…]
Bathsheba
After 50 years, I have discovered the significance of our Holden FC’s name.
My dad was called David. In the Bible, there’s a King David who has an illicit affair with a woman he spies in a bath on a roof top. Her name, Bathsheba. Bath-she-ba; an apt name considering the circumstances of their meeting.
Did Mum think that when Dad bought this car, this silver-pointed beauty was his “mistress’?
Similarities: Both Davids were master of their realms. Both Bathshebas, not new, used, yet beautiful. And both Bathshebas became parked in their David’s palace, in a harem, their love shared.
© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2019; updated 2022
Feature Photo: Bathsheba in our Backyard © L.M. Kling nee Trudinger) 1969
***
Join the Journey into Central Australia with the T-team, led by my Dad, Mr. T.
Click on the links below:
The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977
Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981
Friday Crime–The Culvert (22)
Choices and Consequences
Brighton Beach
Tuesday April 27, 2022
10am
El
El plodded along the shore towards Seacliff Beach. Dan’s request had been troubling her all morning. ‘Darn! I was just beginning to enjoy my freedom,’ she muttered, ‘and now this.’
The crisp clear morning, blue skies dotted with cottonwool clouds, seagulls wheeling over the aqua waves and the sand crunching beneath her pounding feet, annoyed Eloise Delaney. How could she enjoy this brilliant day if she had to go back to work? Maybe after a few months of leisure she might get bored and want to return to the hamster wheel of police work and no play, but at the moment, she wasn’t bored.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket.
El stopped, gazed at the sea, the morning sun sparkling on the waves, dug the device out of her pocket and spoke, ‘Hey there Sven. What’s up?’
‘I was just thinking, why don’t we organise another get together for Zoe and Francis?’
‘Why? Can’t they organise their own social life? They are both adults.’
‘Yeah, but, actually, I was thinking, I could invite Tiffy, my niece to come along.’
‘Tiffy,’ El sniffed, ‘good luck with that.’
‘I dunno, it’s worth a try,’ Sven said, ‘we don’t have to say anything, but we could see if they look alike and have similar…I mean, they’d be half-sisters.’
‘I can’t see it happening. Nah, only way is to get Tiffy to do a DNA test and that’s not going to happen. Besides, won’t Tiffy think it’s a bit strange you wanting her to meet Zoe?’
‘Uh…well…’
‘I mean, from what I understand about Tiffy, is that she rarely turns up to family gatherings. So, how are you going to get her to meet Zoe at say a park or coffee shop? Huh?’
‘Er, um, she does tend to show up if there’s something in it for her,’ Sven replied.
‘So, you reckon, then, that Tiffy might come if you tell her that Zoe is her long-lost sister and that she’s a lawyer?’ El said.
‘Oh, er…she might. That’s a good angle.’
Tramping in like an elephant where mice fear to tread. El shook her head. ‘Could get awkward, Sven. As for your sister, you might be opening a can of worms.’
‘Yeah, but, but the truth must come out. There’s been too many lies and cover ups.’ Sven’s voice raised an octave. ‘Francis, he’s upset. You know that Lillie, my sister, never said anything. Went skulking off to Tasmania and had her baby. Gave her away and came back home. Like nothing happened. Who does that?’
‘Lots of people,’ El said with a sigh. ‘In my line of work, people do things, not very nice things. Darn awful things, actually. You know kill people and bury their bodies and then carry on with life, as if nothing ever happened. Happens more than you think.’
On the other end of the phone a pause. Then, ‘Right, well, I better get going.’ Sven ended the call with a click.
El stared at her mobile phone, confused. Why didn’t he suggest Zoe meeting up with his son? she wondered. If Lillie were Zoe’s mother, they’d be cousins, after all.
Adelaide Police HQ
Tuesday April 27, 2022
10am
Dan
Detective Dan Hooper leaned back on his chair and grinned at his Crispy Crème donut. Caramel frosting. Mmm! He deserved it. All that hard work collecting evidence from within the dusty bowels of the station archives and frosty interviews with long-forgotten witnesses had paid off.
The boss had approved the reopening of the cold case; the one involving a certain Mr. Percy Edwards and his partner in some dodgy business, Jan von Erikson. The two “mispas”, had to be related.
Dan nodded and took a bite out of the caramel donut. His sugar levels and cholesterol would have to take a back seat—maybe in Mr. E’s blue Ford Fairmont station wagon—while Dan enjoyed this moment of triumph.
After the second bite, he raised a finger and summoned Dee to his desk.
Dee raced over, police issue I-pad in hand, eyes twinkling above her mask while glancing at the remaining three Crispy Crème donuts waiting in the box to be consumed.
*[Photo 2 and feature: Crispy Crème Donuts © L.M. Kling 2024]
Dan noted that Dee paid particular attention to the strawberry iced donut. He spoke, ‘We have permission to proceed, Dee. The new evidence in this cold case of the missing Edwards and von Erikson case has piqued the chief’s interest.’
‘Well, you did come across that body,’ Dee said glancing at the strawberry donut.
Dan picked up the box and held it towards Dee. ‘Take one.’
‘Aw, I know I shouldn’t,’ Dee’s hand, with a mind of its own pounced on the strawberry frosted donut. ‘But you’ve twisted my arm.’
Dee dropped her mask below her chin and the pink donut disappeared into her small mouth.
‘Your first task, Dee, is to contact a fellow by the name of Jim Edwards.’
‘Jim? Jim Edwards?’ Dee, still wearing her mask as a chin-guard, grinned like the cat that had licked all the cream. ‘He’s married to Lillie. Didn’t you know?’
‘Well, Dee, you really are the source of all gossip and information. I would’ve never…’ Dan sat up and drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘That’s one out of the box. The case has just risen to a whole new level.’
‘If you say so, Dan,’ Dee replied, more interested in the second caramel donut beckoning her from the box.
Dan pushed the donut container towards Dee. ‘Go on, I need to watch my weight.’
Dee didn’t need much persuasion. She plucked up the cake and that vanished in three bites.
Dan picked up the last donut and examined its chocolate icing. ‘Dee, would you contact Jim Edwards and arrange an interview, please?’
Dee stood, strapped the mask back over her mouth, and said, ‘I’m onto it, Dan. I have this feeling in my gutters; there’s more to Lillie Edwards than meets the eye.’
Dan frowned. ‘Try to keep an objective view, Dee.’
‘I will,’ Dee replied and hurried off to her desk.
Dan settled his elbows on his own desk, and while savouring the chocolate donut, scrolled through the “millions” of emails that plagued his computer.
One caught his attention. “File of complaint—harassment”. He read further. He hit the desk. ‘The swine!’
‘What?’ Dee called.
‘Lillie, she’s filed a complaint.’
‘See,’ Dee returned, ‘I told you she’s trouble. Like I said about her; you wouldn’t file a complaint unless you had something to hide.’
‘I’m starting to get that same gut feeling, Dee.’ Dan ground his teeth. ‘She’s hiding something. Definitely hiding something.’
‘Told ya, Dan, I’m not Adelaide’s most famous gossip for nothink. I get these guttural feelings and I have ta run with them. You’ll see, I’m right. I’m always right.’
‘We’ll see about that,’ Dan said with a chuckle.
He spent the rest of the morning printing photos of people related to this cold case and sticking them onto a Perspex storyboard.
© Tessa Trudinger 2024
Feature Photo: Crispy Crème Donuts © 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
Nostalgia–Christmas
Christmas Day With the T-Team 1978
[Why 1978? Nostalgia for one. Some snapshot of the past for future generations. And, well…I do wish I could share the shenanigans of current family, but I think that would leave me Christmas card less and spending the next 40 years on my own at Christmas sipping some sort of spirits to drown my sorrows, forget my regrets and missing all the entertainment Christmas in Australia brings. So, what harm would be done to reminisce about one warm Christmas Day when life was simple, and the stars of this show are now twinkling in the sky of remembrance. Needless to say, like Mr B, I will not use their real names to protect the not-so innocent, and the little bit affected.]
Christmas to a T
The sun filtered through the dusty window golden and warm. I flung off my sheet and raced to the Christmas tree; a real one that filled the lounge room with the scent of pine.
Mum, still in her nightie, watched me as I opened my presents: two skirts and a pair of scuffs.
I hugged her. ‘Thank you, Mummy.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘So, what church do you think we should go to, today?’
‘I was thinking Maughan Church in the city.’
‘Excellent, I like that church.’
‘Well, then,’ Mum glanced down the passage way, ‘you better get ready.’
I hurried to my room and changed into my new Christmas skirt, relishing the T-female tradition of new clothes for Christmas. Even better, home sewn by mum, so no one would have the same dress as me. I pulled on a white lace shirt to match the simple V-cut skirt of fine red and white plaid.
Mum called out from the kitchen, ‘Hurry, we have to get there by half-past nine.’
‘Alright.’ Easy for her to say, but the challenge was my Dad and brother, Rick. How to wake the men who lay in their bed-tombs asleep?
Mum had an idea. ‘Why don’t you put the radio on? Make it loud. Really loud.’
I followed Mum’s suggestion and tuned the radio to 5KA and turned up the volume dial until it would turn no more.
Boney-Em blasted out a Christmas carol causing Mum to jump. ‘Not that loud,’ she cried through a mouth full of milk and Weeties cereal mixed with her ever-faithful All-Bran.
An unimpressed and bleary-eyed Rick and Dad joined us on our jaunt into the city to celebrate Christmas Uniting Church style, not much different from the Lutheran Church service. Rick nodded off during the sermon all the same.
Then, the highlight of our year, Christmas at Grandma’s. Always a spread, but as it was simmering around 35-degrees Celsius, cold chicken and ham, for meat, and potato salad, coleslaw, tomato and onion salad, cucumber and beans from Dad’s garden swimming in mayonnaise, and for our serve of greens a bowl of iceberg lettuce.
The food was only second to the company. Grandma, with her G (she wasn’t a T) gifting of hospitality, had invited some friends from church. My uncle and aunty from the inner suburbs of Adelaide also came to complete the gathering around the old oak extendable table. That year, the numbers being not large, I sat with the adults. Other years children were relegated out in the passageway or exiled to the back garden to sit at the “kindertisch”. Anyway, at 15, I was almost an adult.
After lunch, we lingered at Grandma’s all afternoon, waiting for the second wave of visitors to arrive. I flicked through Grandma’s photo albums and then read some of her books from the bookshelf in the spare room. Actually, that’s what I did, after helping Grandma and mum wash and wipe the dishes while the others lazed around chatting and playing cards.
I’d started on The Coles Funny Picture Book when called to bid one of Grandma’s friends, my uncle and aunty goodbye. Within minutes, the next influx of relatives rolled up the gravel drive. Aunt Wilma and her husband Jack stepped from their yellow Volkswagen Passat. The couple impressed me; so striking with Aunt Wilma’s elegance, matching her husband’s movie star looks and Scottish wit.
Sidling up to Mum, I asked, ‘Why didn’t the others stay?’
Mum mumbled something I didn’t quite catch before rushing up to her sister and hugging her. I followed mum with the greeting rituals of hug and kiss my aunt and uncle. Then, while the adults engaged in honey biscuits, tea and banter, I resumed my perusal of The Coles Funny Picture Book.
Dinner was left-overs from lunch. Sorry Wilma and Jack, but that’s the tradition. Waste not, want not, my Grandma used to say. She was a parson’s daughter and married a parson, not just any old parson, but a missionary one, during the Depression. And she and her missionary husband moved up to Hermannsburg at the start of World War 2. I was convinced that she still had rusty tins of food mouldering at the back of her cupboard from the “Dark Ages”.
Uncle Jack was in fine form—they’d obviously had a merry time at the last Christmas appointment. True to form, he kept us entertained with his brogue accent and humour, repeating variations of the Wattle ditty. Here’s how it goes with his accent:
“This ‘ere is a wat’le,
The emblem of our land,
You can stick it in a bot’le,
Or ‘old it in your ‘and.’
Jack performed this with variations, and some subtle actions that at fifteen, I was a tad too innocent to “get”, but we all laughed anyway.
As the night progressed, the bolder Uncle Jack’s jokes grew and the more most of us laughed. Perhaps not Grandma’s friends who had dared to stay on; they kept glancing at Grandma, the expression on their faces reading, “Pull your son-in-law into line, dear.”
My dad sat on the piano stool, hands under his bottom, his lips doing the bird-in-mouth thing and a snort escaping with every new and daring quip from Jack. Dad hoped to play the piano as we sang some Christmas carols, but as each joke escalated in levels of risqué, clever though they were, the likelihood of carol singing became less likely.
One of Grandma’s friends suggested we should sing some carols. Ah, the innocence of good Christian folk in the 1970’s.
Rick and I commenced our own rendition of We Three Kings…
Grandma picked up a present and quietly said, ‘I don’t think we will sing this year. Let’s open our presents. Lee-Anne, you’re the youngest, you can start.’
So, here’s how I scored in 1978: Cosmetic mask from Aunt Wilma and Uncle Jack, hairdryer from Mum and Dad, photo album and book from Grandma and a cassette tape from my country cousins.
Grandma’s present, a book, interested me the most and I stayed up to 2am reading it.
© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2018
*Feature Photo: Christmas Tree Admirers © C.D. Trudinger 1978
***
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Friday Crime–The Culvert (21)
The Boots
Tuesday April 26, 2022
10am
El
Before picking up her phone to arrange another portrait session with Lillie, El, paused. She reflected on the previous day.
After the discovery, Dan had instructed her to make her way back to the car park.
‘I’ve called Renard and asked them to wait for you,’ he said.
‘What about you? We all came together, so, how will you get home?’ El asked.
‘Don’t worry about me. We’ll be here for hours yet—maybe all night,’ Dan replied. ‘I’ll get one of the team to give me a lift.’
El nodded and then trekked down the hill, then the steep steps of the gully. From the first lookout, the vehicles in the car park appeared so small, like toys. People like ants crawled around them.
I wonder how many of those “ants” know of the body? she thought. I hope no journalists got wind of the situation and are lurking down there with their lumpy film equipment and hundreds of onlookers.
One thing she had learnt from her years on the force was that news like this, the finding of human remains, seemed to bring journalists out from behind their computers. As if they could sniff out a breaking story. Or was there a leak? Someone on the force mentioning it on Titter or Myface?
‘Wouldn’t put it past Dee,’ El said.
She had caught Dee out, mobile in the palm of her hand, scrolling. Then there were the Dee-spamming episodes. El had made the mistake of joining Myface, for a start, and then in a moment of insanity, accepting Dee as a friend. In a blink of a screenshot, inane and blatantly silly posts flooded her email and Myface page. Dee, of course. “Find out what sort of lover you are—do this survey”, “Upload your selfie and find out what you’d look like when 80”, “Stop pigs being persecuted—copy and paste this article and send to 10 friends” … And the list, the scrolling was endless. All Dee. Only Dee.
‘Doesn’t Dee have a life?’ El said shaking her head at the bottom of the steps.
El passed the kiosk, still shaking her head while mulling over her mistake with Myface. She’d ceased using social media. She had a life, even while on leave. When some suspect character stole her profile and pretended to be her, El erased all her social media platforms.
‘Hey! El!’ Renard called.
El spotted the father and daughter pair on the alfresco deck of the kiosk.
Renard waved his hand which clutched a mint-with-choc-chips-flavoured gelato. ‘Up here, El. Come join us and have an ice cream.’
El trotted up the steps to the kiosk and after purchasing a latte-flavoured gelato, joined Renard and Zoe.
By this time Renard and Zoe had devoured their treat and sat with El at the metal dining suite, watching her lick her ice cream.
‘Well,’ Renard said, ‘that was a turn up for the books. Fancy finding a body…’
‘Shh!’ El said, ‘you don’t know who’s listening.’ She observed Zoe play with a watch, and then slip it into her pocket. Just the way she held the watch caused El to assume that the watch didn’t belong to her. Besides the watch looked old and rusty.
She was about to ask Zoe about her “find” when a van with a television logo crawled along the road below.
Instead, El nudged Renard. ‘We better get going before they start snooping around.’
El, Renard and Zoe made a quiet and unobserved exit from Waterfall Gully before the journalists became aware of their presence and connection to the “Breaking News”.
Next morning, as the news chimed triumphant, “Human remains have been found…” El dialled Lillie’s number. While waiting for Lillie to answer, El registered that the exact location of the human remains was still a mystery to the public.
Tuesday April 26, 2022
10am
Dan
In the informal interview room, Dan gestured to a comfortable chair to the side of the low coffee table. Fifi perched herself on the edge of the seat offered and kneaded a ball of tissues in her palm. Every so often, she dabbed her eyes with the tissues.
‘Now, Fifi,’ Dan placed on the table a plastic bag that held the mud-caked leather boots, ‘do these look familiar?’
Fifi nodded. ‘My father had a pair like those. He wore them when he went camping…and hiking.’
Dan looked at his voice recorder and said, ‘Fifi Edwards confirms that the boots possibly belong to her father, Percy Edwards.’
‘Why did it take you people so long to find the body?’ Fifi glared at Dan. ‘We told you guys forty years ago that he was down there. And you did nothing.’
‘Forty-two,’ Dan said with a brief cough. ‘I’m sorry for the pain and hardship you and your family have been through, not knowing what happened to your father. I can’t make judgements, but as you can imagine, it was a different time and policing…’
‘But we told you!’ Fifi thumped the table. ‘How hard would it have been for a detective back then to just listen and take us seriously?’
We have no record of anyone coming in and making a statement.’
‘Probably thought we were just kids and were just wasting their time.’
‘So, you and your friends came into the station and spoke to someone?’
Fifi sighed. ‘Well, actually, we got my friend Lillie to come in and make a statement. She said she did, and I believed her; she was that sort of girl. Solid. Trustworthy. I mean, now, look at her. She’s a principal of one of the most prestigious colleges in Adelaide.’
‘And your sister-in-law.’
‘Who would know better?’ Fifi continued, ‘I’ve known her since we were kids. We were neighbours. Best friends since kindy.’
‘Best friends, eh?’
‘Oh, well, these days not so much, I must admit,’ Fifi said. ‘She’s always busy with her work. No life outside of teaching, and now she’s a principal, the task is all-consuming.’
‘Hmm,’ Dan uttered, but thought, Just the sort of person not to be trustworthy. After all, if Zoe is her daughter, then Lillie would have been in the initial stages of pregnancy. Perhaps she had other things on her mind when her friends instructed her to go and report their finding. Did she get distracted and forget? Did she turn up at the police station and have to wait too long? Was she afraid her secret would become known if she reported the discovery of remains? What was her secret? Pregnancy? Or something more sinister?
Detective Hooper leaned back, laced his hands and rested them on his taut belly. ‘What can you tell me about the day your father went missing, Fifi?’
Fifi shrugged. ‘He went to work and never came home.’
‘Then, how come he was wearing hiking boots?’
‘I don’t know, I was just a kid. ‘sides, Mum ‘n I went to town that day. Had to get a new pair of school shoes. I remember ‘cos I was angry. Really peed off. My friend Lillie and her brother, Sven and my brother Jimmy, were going for a hike up in the hills and Mum said I couldn’t go. Not fair!’
‘And your dad, as far as you know, went to work.’ Dan leaned forward. ‘And what sort of work did your dad do?’
‘He was a businessman.’
‘What sort of business?’
Fifi shrugged. ‘I dunno. Cars, I think. Holdens up at Elizabeth, I think.’
‘I see…’ Dan mused. Always remember him into Fords.
‘So, on that particular day, January 1978, your dad drove off in his…’ Dan looked up from notetaking.
‘What car did your family own?’
‘Um…a station wagon…blue…’
‘What make and model?’
‘Gawd! I can’t remember. Those cars, they’re all the same. And Dad had so many of them. I mean, we’re talking fifty years ago.’
‘Forty-four, Fifi,’ Dan said, remembering that at the time, the family had a Ford Falcon, XA Fairmont station wagon. And she was correct, it was blue. He mused how the family looked a sight all piled into the wagon rolling up the church driveway to swell the numbers of the congregation on Sundays. Mr. E (Edwards) big noting himself after the service, Sunday best brown suit—look at me! I’m from Somerton. Look at me! The latest model car! Look at me! Look at what a good father I am! All these children I have! I’m a good Christian. I’m fruitful and multiplying. Look at my wife! She’s the most beautiful lady here! Dan’s dad called her a “trophy wife”.
‘Yeah, you’re right.’ Fifi lifted her bag from the floor and rose from her chair. ‘I don’t think there’s much more I can tell you, sir.’
‘Thank you, for your help, Fifi.’ Dan also stood. ‘If there are any developments, we’ll be in touch. And if you can remember anything else, let us know.’
When Fifi had gone, Dan reflected. His mum had once said when Mr. Edwards had gone, Mrs. Edwards came to life, became her own vibrant person. Before, she had no personality, she really was just a “thing”, a trophy. But once her husband had left, she was filled with verve and energy. Then there was no stopping Mrs. Edwards.
He thought about Lillie. At college, a pretty, but dull kind of girl; the sort who melted into the background. Studious, he reckoned. And now, according to Dee, all class and power, running a fancy-wancy college in the Eastern suburbs.
Dan chuckled, ‘It’s like Lillie took over where Mr. Edwards left off.’
© Tessa Trudinger 2024
*Feature Photo: Boots © 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
K-Team Travel with a tiny bit of Family History
[Have you ever been to a place and had an immediate affinity with it? Well, that’s how it was for me when the T-K Team on their Swiss adventures visited Murten. Loved the place. I’m sure, now, that it wasn’t just the perfect weather, the picture postcard views of the lake and the charming medieval architecture so perfectly preserved. There was something more, which I was to discover recently.
Of course, my younger son would insist on putting a dampener on my dreams—’How can you be related? You’ve got no Western German in your ethnicity,’ he harps on and on about that point. Anyway, we will put that matter aside and I’ll take it up with My Heritage.
All I can say, is that there must be something in the connection I felt with the place. While doing my family history, I came across some ancestors, the De Bons, who lived in Murten, my five times great-grandfather was a protestant pastor in Murten. There were Huguenot connections in the family. And note the museum, where I mention that the Celts lived in Murten. According to my DNA results from My Heritage, my ethnicity is 25% Celt.]
Murten/Morat
Thursday, August 21, 2014, even earlier up as we planned to drive across the country to Bern and beyond, near the French part of Switzerland. Granny excused herself as the last two days had exhausted her and besides, she really needed to catch up with her uncle and auntie.
I might add here that Granny and her family, being Swiss German, were not fans of the French part of Switzerland. The feeling, I’ve heard, is mutual. (Thanks to Nepoleon, the French part of Switzerland only became thus in the early 1800’s. So, when my ancestors were living there in the 1700’s, they would’ve identified as French.)
In Murten, the people speak French. So, when P1 spoke Swiss German to the Museum attendant, she was not amused. We almost didn’t get a Museum pass.
Back to the timeline, and some photos.
Despite Tomina’s (Tom Tom) and my under par navigational performance (early morning—yawn), we arrived at 11.30am in Morat/Murten and relished a day of summer, eating lunch by the lake, exploring the Old town and its buildings garnished with flowers, the museum of Stone Age, Celtic, Roman and Medieval relics spanning 10,000 years of human settlement around Murten. Followed by a visit to the Roman ruins in Avenches, the ancient capital of the Roman province of Helvitica.
On our return, we suffered the frustration stuck in peak hour traffic, and Granny suffered stress worrying about our late arrival “home”.
© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2014; updated 2024
Feature photo: Murten/Morat © L.M. Kling 2014
***
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Friday Crime–The Culvert (20)
Lofty
Anzac Day, Monday April 25, 2022
10am — 3pm
Mt. Lofty
Dan
While old diggers swilled down beer in RSL clubs around the nation, Dan led an intrepid group of friends up the steep steps of Waterfall Gully. A perfect day for a hike, he considered. And to do some snooping for El’s requested cold case being the mystery of the missing men, Jan von Erikson and Percy Edwards.
First, he’d invited El to join him. He was confident that El could sense ghosts and point him in the right direction to find “souvenirs”. But then, El’s partner, Francis Renard asked to join the expedition, followed swiftly with a request that his newly found daughter Zoe Thomas come along too. Sven had then wanted to join the party. But at the last minute, he bowed out as he had a catch-up tutorial for students who had failed their first assignment.
Dan stopped at the viewing stand and, after glancing at the waterfall trickling a meagre offering of water down its cliffs, he watched his troupe of followers crawl up the steps. He chuckled remembering the times he’d taken his family on this same route up to Adelaide’s iconic mountain. While the children would be bounding up the steps and slopes like deer, Kate, his ex would be huffing, wheezing, and complaining. Inevitably, Dan would coax Kate, his wife at that time, saying, “Just five more minutes, and then five more minutes.” Then, just as inevitably, they’d reach the old ruin halfway to the summit, and there Dan and the kids inevitably leave “Mum” to rest and recover there while they completed the mission to the top.
*[Photo 1: First Falls Waterfall Gully © L.M. Kling 1984]
No huffing, puffing and wheezing with this lot, though. All of them seemed to be at the peak of their fitness, even 65-year-old Renard. Renard boasted that he jogged up and down Mt. Lofty at least once or twice a month. Zoe his daughter as proof of nature over nurture, also boasted of her adventures in Tasmania: Traversing the Central Highlands from Cradle Mountain to Lake St. Clair, climbing Mt. Hartz and Frenchman’s Cap. And of course, El had kept up her fitness running, jogging and bike riding along the track from her home in Brighton to Hallett Cove.
He did think of asking Jemima, but she hadn’t been answering his calls lately. What was the current term of that? Oh, yes, he remembered, “Ghosting”. Rather fitting for today’s walk, he mused with a pang of sadness.
Dan waited and sighed. ‘What’s taking them so long?’
El strode up to Dan. ‘Sorry about that, Zoe has to stop every few minutes to take photos.’
‘What? Of this? We’ve hardly started,’ Dan said, ‘the rate we’re going we’ll be hiking back in the dark.’
El looked at her watch. ‘It’s only ten o’clock, plenty of time.’
Renard and his daughter joined them at the vantage point.
Zoe spent precious minutes framing her scenes and snapping shots using her Nikon camera with a formidable zoom lens attached to it. She kept muttering, ‘You said it’s a waterfall, but where’s the water?’
‘It’s been a bit dry over summer,’ El said, ‘it’s the driest state on the driest continent.’
‘Antarctica is actually.’
‘Spoken like a true lawyer,’ El laughed.
‘It’s important to have your facts right,’ Zoe returned while photographing the waterfall with minimal amounts of water dribbling down it.
‘That’s enough, girls,’ Renard said, ‘let’s enjoy the hike. Besides, Dan’s getting a bit toey; he wants to get to the top.’
‘And, how long does it take to get to the above-mentioned top?’ Zoe asked.
‘Erm, takes me only about an hour, on a slow day,’ Renard said, his chest puffed out in pride.
‘Well, then, what’s the rush? We’ll be up ‘n down in no time.’ Zoe looked at El. ‘Oh, unless El’s not up for it.’
‘Oh, I am,’ El snipped, ‘and if Dan is so desperate to summit, why don’t we make it a race? See who can reach the top first?’
Dan slung his backpack over his shoulder and pouted, ‘No need to rush. I was hoping we’d enjoy the hike. Maybe have lunch at the ruins.’
‘Nup, not good enough, mate,’ Renard jogged on the spot, ‘nup, I say race.’
‘We get to the top, and on the way down, we can have lunch,’ Zoe said rubbing her hands together. ‘Come on Dad, let’s do it.’
The foursome bounded up the steps to the Second Falls, but soon after, Zoe and her father disappeared into the scrub leaving Dan and his former crime-fighting partner sauntering behind.
While batting liquorice bushes just past the Second Falls, Dan glanced at El who had kept pace with him. Renard and his daughter had, in their quest to be “first”, become absorbed in the distant heights of the Mt. Lofty trail.
Dan asked, ‘Sense anything?’
El glanced around her taking in the dense grasses near the creek with just a trickle of water. ‘Actually, no. Should I? Is there something about Zoe that we should know?’
Dan shrugged. Perhaps it’s better if such things like ghosts of murder victims haunting the Mt. Lofty trail should come naturally. After all, it was El, who after talking to Fifi suspected that her father met his end here. She did say they found human remains…
*[Photo 3: A stop at the Ruins © C.D. Trudinger circa 1965]
‘Where did Fifi say the remains were, El?’
El sat down on the ruin wall. ‘She didn’t. Just that they found them near a drain or mine entrance.’
Dan placed his hands on hips. ‘Great! No sense of what direction the body could be?’
‘No, but, logically, since they were up here in the height of summer, on a thirty-eight-degree day…after reaching the summit, Fifi was desperate for a drink. Almost fainting. They managed to get a lime cordial from the kiosk. But let’s just say, the lime cordial didn’t stay down her for long. Anyway, after a rest, Fifi reckoned they begin the climb down. She mentioned they had a rest around here at the ruins. She was feeling better and went looking for water. That’s when she came upon the remains. Under some bridge, she reckoned.’
‘Bridge? What bridge? In all my years exploring, hiking around here, I’ve never come across a bridge.’
‘Maybe it looked like a bridge but I s’pose it could have been some sort of drain or mine entrance.’
‘Could be. Perhaps what would be called a culvert. So, on that premise, she’d be looking in a gully where a tributary might be.’ Dan pointed at a nearby dip in the hillside. ‘I reckon if we follow that little gully there, we might find something. Or at least you may sense something.’
‘Worth a try,’ El chuckled, ‘I can imagine Renard and Zoe patting themselves on the back and treating themselves to cappuccinos at the top now.’
*[Photo 4: View from Lofty summit © C.D. Trudinger circa 1965]
‘I wonder when they’ll be looking around and saying, “Where’s Dan and El?”’
‘Renard will probably say that I “piked out” and am out of form since I’m on holidays.’
As they began stepping down into the gully, Dan sighed, ‘Oh, I wish you’d come back, El, I really don’t get on with Dee.’
‘What’s wrong with Dee?’ El laughed.
‘She’s so…so…’
‘Paranoid?’
‘Yes.’
‘Has to do everything by the book?’
‘Yes.’
Boots thumping on the ground made Dan and El stop.
El gasped, ‘I sensed that!’
‘So did I.’
Zoe burst through the wattle bushes. With eyes wide like a cat in fright she exclaimed, ‘You’ll never guess what we found.’
‘What?’ Dan asked.
‘A koala?’ El said with a nervous laugh.
‘No! Come!’ Zoe gestured. ‘Dad’s keeping guard. Says you’ll know exactly…’
‘Who?’
They tramped over the slimy creek bed and slippery rocks. Reeds and acacia bushes whipped their bodies as they thrashed their way through the scrub.
‘What possessed you to go down here?’ Dan asked.
‘I had to pee,’ Zoe said. ‘Then I sort of got lost. Lucky, I had a signal on my phone. Didn’t fancy…But I was wandering down this creek and I got curious…it looked so…familiar.’
‘What?’
‘Who would’ve thought I’d be on a hike with Detective Dan and just like those murder mystery shows, I’d come across…how strange!’
Renard met them as they approached a wattle bush. ‘It’s this way,’ he said pointing to a clump of blackberry bushes.
After navigating the prickles of those particularly thorny scourges that had invaded the native bushland, the group stood around a slimy puddle. What appeared to be a leathery cowhide draped the entrance to a drain as if it were a welcome mat. In the mouth of the cave, an upturned skull sprouted a sprig of native lilies.
Dan squatted by the leather. ‘It’s a ribcage,’ he said.
El hunched over and stepped into the cave.
‘Don’t go too far, love,’ Renard said, ‘it could be a disused mine.’
‘It’s not,’ El sang in return, ‘it’s a drain. See all the water trickling out of it?’
Zoe looked on and with arms folded, said, ‘This place is giving me the creeps.’
‘Now, that’s the sort of thing that El would normally say,’ Dan said, then poked his head into the drain. ‘Sense anything El?’
‘Like what?’ El snorted. ‘A ghost?’
Something shiny caught Dan’s attention. He reached over to a tuft of grass by the drain’s edge and parted the leaves to reveal a silver chain. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pair of gloves, then a plastic bag.
El looked around at Dan. ‘You came prepared?’
‘You never know,’ Dan replied and bagged the chain with a cross pendant. He then smiled at Zoe. ‘Now, I was going to use my phone, but as you have such a quality camera, Zoe, would you mind taking some photos for me?’
Zoe stared at the “evidence”. She turned pale. Then she patted her camera bag and shook her head. ‘Sorry, I-I can’t…this is creeping me out.’
She backed away from the remains, then turned and ran, disappearing through the bushes.
‘Wait…Zoe…don’t…’ Renard called as he chased her.
Dan sighed, ‘Too much for the aspiring lawyer, I guess.’
‘And we are too used to scenes such as this,’ El said.
Dan lifted the phone to his ear and called in the forensic team, then the coroner. He hoped that there was enough DNA on the remains to identify the victim.
*[Photo 6: Boat on Macquarie Harbour, Strahan, Tasmania © L.M. Kling 2016
Zoe
As the lawyer scrambled down the slope, her mind raced to a disturbing conversation she’d had at the hotel in Strahan four months ago. The week before Christmas, and one of the old locals had approached her. A fisherman who owned a fancy yacht and by her estimation had imbibed way too much.
He sidled up to her at the bar and talked to her as if he knew her. Kept calling her Lillie.
“I dare you!” he repeated in his drunken drawl. “I dare you to hike up Mt. Lofty and find that geezer. He’s up there under the bridge, ya know. I dare you to find ‘im, Lilly.”
“It’s his fault, ya know. Ya ol’ man. He made me do it.” The fisherman then patted Zoe’s arm. “Nah, you’re a good girl, Lilly. You’d never rat on ya ol’ man.”
Zoe massaged the mud-encrusted watch in her pocket. Up until that moment, she had thought the fisherman’s words were the ravings of a drunk man.
© Tessa Trudinger 2024
Feature Photo: Kangaroo Carcass Brachina Gorge ©L.M. Kling 1999
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Far-Away Friday–My Memories
A thunderstorm right over our home last Tuesday and one that rattled the windows threatening to blow out our modem, caused us to switch off our internet. Screen-free for the day, I spent my time excavating my writings from the depths of the closet. There, I discovered this memory from my childhood, and a special cat in my life, Barney.
The poem/prose was handwritten, so I have transcribed it. The original is set below this one.
Barney
He sits supreme over all,
His fur as that of a mop
Sweeps down his skeletal
body.
Still, he is king.
Half his right ear
Pricks up with alertness,
The rest had been bitten off in a territorial
battle.
He is now supreme.
Over all of them,
One-eye, Buff-head,
And the ginger cat who lives down the street.
He is victor, no one dares
to confront him.
When small, his eyes clamped shut, feeble and defenceless,
I loved him.
Cotton wool was his fur, paws as soft and pliable as velvet,
Not to mention an adorable patch upon his button of a nose.
I held him, cuddled him.
Active, bold, curious when he frolicked in the sunlight,
I watched him.
When wide-eyed and fearful caught up in a tree, no way to escape,
I rescued him.
He grew, years passed by many litters came forth, but no such kitten was as adorable as him. He became my favourite, waiting at the gate for my return from school.
Not only faithful was he, but entertaining, his squabbles with enemy cats became a spectacle and often afterwards I could be heard imitating him; I respected him.
We returned from a trip to Canberra one year, Barney was nowhere to be seen. Often lately he had been taking expeditions and for days would be missing.
This time, he never returned.
I missed him.
© L.M. Trudinger 1978
Feature Photo: Barney Portrait © L.M. Trudinger 1978
Original Poem/prose of Barney by L.M. Trudinger 1978
***
Read more of my intrepid adventures with my dad and family in Central Australia in my travel memoirs:
The T-Team with Mr. B: Central Australian Safari 1977
Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981
Tru-Kling Creations 