good vs evil

Family History Friday–Grandpa Trudinger

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Doctor Ronald Trudinger

The Legendary Missionary

In the previous tale, I mentioned a certain friend attached pride to the superiority of the Aussie farmer—a pragmatic soul, jack-of-all-trades and survivor of harsh outback conditions. So, with pride, I wrote about my maternal grandfather, Sam Gross.

My paternal grandfather was none of that. He was a “city slicker” as the “cockies” called them, born and bred in the city and not the farm.

Ronald Trudinger was the first in his family to be born in Australia in August 1886.

*[Photo 1: Ronald as a child in the Trudinger family photo in Adelaide © courtesy of L.M. Kling circa 1890]

His father, Karl August Trudinger, was born in Nördlingen, Bavaria, while his mother, Clara Theresa, was born in Kleinwalka, Saxony. His parents first emigrated to Bradford, Yorkshire, where they lived for about twenty years and became British citizens. They didn’t like Bismarck and his ideas of unifying Germany. The first twelve of Karl’s and Clara’s children were born in England.

*[Photo 2: The young Trudinger clan in England © courtesy L.M. Kling circa 1880]

Karl August was a textile merchant; hence, living in towns or cities worked best for him. Ronald’s mother, Clara Theresa, grew up in the Moravian Brethren community in Saxony. Faith in God and education were her values. She had yearned to be a missionary, but that door was closed to her at the time. As a result, she prayed for her children that they would become missionaries. Eight out of her thirteen offspring did.

One of them was my grandpa, Ronald, who became a missionary in Sudan.

So, although he wasn’t the venerated Aussie icon of tough “cocky” farmer, his calling was different but just as valuable. He became an intrepid missionary in Sudan, based in Melut on the White Nile. He spent decades translating the New Testament into Dinka and other African languages.

*[Photo 3: Ronald had a wonderful vegetable garden in Sudan as plants grew well in the fertile soil on the banks of the Nile © courtesy L.M. Kling circa 1930]

How thankful I am to My Heritage and the links to news articles matching Dr. Ronald Trudinger—100 at least. In the early 1900s until the late 1950s, he appeared as a local celebrity, especially in church circles. His deputation talks on the “Soudan” and the Muslims, and the risks and challenges the family faced in Africa, particularly during the War in the 1940s, were a source of fascination, if not entertainment, for the public of that time.

Much has been written about Dr. Ronald Trudinger’s adventures in Sudan. If you want to read more about his mission work, my dad wrote his father’s biography for the Australian Dictionary of Evangelical Biography – TRUDINGER, Ronald (1886-1968).

But what was the rest of his life like?

Ronald Trudinger grew up in Norwood, a suburb of Adelaide, South Australia. From what I can gather, again from various news articles about the family, he may have lived in Kapunda and Broken Hill. His father, new to Australia and a merchant, had to go to where the work was. When they first arrived in Australia, according to Ronald’s birth certificate, his father was a greengrocer. Humble beginnings after being a wool merchant in Yorkshire.

A few years later, news reports have Karl August working in a jewellery store in Kapunda. Then, as I mentioned, there was a time the family was in Broken Hill, where Ronald’s eleven-year-old older sister died of typhus.

Eventually, so the family narrative goes, they settled in Marryatville, a subdivision/estate in Norwood, and father, Karl August, teamed up with a Mr. Zimmermann to manage a textile store in Adelaide city. While his father supported the family as a merchant, and some of his older siblings set off for China as missionaries with China Inland Mission, Ronald became highly educated, attending Adelaide University and becoming a Doctor of Medicine.

As a child, Ronald was exceptionally gifted, and by the age of four he was reading the Bible, and at five, Homer’s Odyssey, so my father says. Apart from these fragments of information passed down the generations by word of mouth, Ronald’s childhood remains a mystery.

News reports at the time have helped fill in some of the gaps in Ronald’s interests as he grew up. One of these was tennis competition reports. Although Ronald was born with one arm shorter than the other, he still enjoyed a hit of tennis and played in competition. He was described as a fierce competitor.

Ronald grew up in a God-fearing family, and from all the Sunday School prizes he won (recorded in the local newspapers), I imagine he came to faith in his Lord Jesus as a young child. His family attended Maylands Presbyterian Church. Although they were from a Moravian Brethren background, there was no such church in Adelaide. There was one in Bethany in the Barossa—too far to travel from Norwood. Anyway, the family probably chose a church and congregation that would support missionaries. When Ronald began his missionary work, he and Lina joined the Burnside Christian Church, which faithfully supported their work in Sudan.

Meanwhile, back at the family home base in Norwood, youthful Ronald Trudinger enjoyed evenings with the family playing games—a tradition passed down to the current generation of the T-Team. This never included playing cards, as such cards were deemed “sinful” and associated with gambling. Games my father taught us were taught to him by his maiden aunts, who had learnt them from their parents. A parlour card game called “Chook Chook” was certainly one game the Trudinger family had and loved playing. “Chook Chook” is all about egg farming, teaching the player the different breeds of chickens, trading and negotiating, and accounting. Other games that Ronald would’ve been familiar with were word games and story games, which his mother created for the education of her children.

*[Photo 4: “Chook Chook” © L.M. Kling 2017]

My father remembers his dad’s fondness for chess. Even in my grandpa’s old age, my father never could beat his dad at chess. Another relative recalled Ronald taught her mother to play the piano. So, I gather another of Ronald’s interests was music, a love which he passed down to his children.

After completing his Bachelor of Science degree from 1908 to 1912, Ronald studied to become a Doctor of Medicine at the University of Adelaide. The University student magazine has him attending the Evangelical Union Christian group there, which would become EU, the Christian group I joined eighty years later.

While at university, Ronald won awards and scholarships for his outstanding results. He even won a scholarship to study tropical infectious diseases in Queensland.

During this time, around 1908, he met a young nurse called Lina Hoopmann. They fell in love and privately became engaged. However, they had to wait many years before they were able to marry. She was Lutheran, and he was not. Her father, a staunch Lutheran minister, refused to give his blessing for the union; he called Ronald a heretic as he wasn’t Lutheran and had come from a Moravian Brethren heritage.

*[Photo 5: Upon their engagement, Ronald and Lina © courtesy of L.M. Kling circa 1911]

So, they had to wait until Lina was 30. She would’ve been legally able to marry without her father’s consent at this time. I doubt, though, being God-fearing folk, they would’ve shown such dishonour and break the third commandment to honour thy parents. I imagine that her father finally gave his blessing, and the marriage went ahead on December 11, 1917. That being said, the family photo of the wedding doesn’t have Lina’s father present. I’d like to give him the benefit of the doubt that he took the photo.

*[Photo 6: Ronald and Lina’s Wedding © courtesy of L.M. Kling 1917]

Others of Lina’s family, such as her sister Dora, had no problem with the Trudinger family. In her diary, she enjoyed many visits to the Trudinger’s in Norwood. Plus, she was overjoyed when Ronald and Lina became engaged and then were able to marry.

From 1912, Ronald commenced his calling to be a missionary doctor in Sudan. He returned on furlough in 1917 to marry Lina. Ronald worked as a doctor at the Royal Adelaide Hospital during this time. By 1918, Ronald, together with his wife, had returned to Sudan. His first two children, Ronald Martin and Agnes Dora, were born in Africa.

In 1927, Ronald and Lina, with Ron junior (9) and Agnes (7), returned to Australia on furlough. They came back for their children to start their education in Australia.

This time, Ron accepted work as a physician and locum in Macclesfield, taking on the challenging task of coronial duties, including being a witness for a high-profile murder case.

*[Photo 7: The young growing family © courtesy L.M. Kling 1929]

My dad, Clement David Trudinger, was born on January 13, 1928, in Norwood. By May 1929, Ronald and Lina, with their young baby son, were on the ship steaming back to Sudan. Dad’s younger brother Leonhard Paul was born in Melut, Sudan.

As with their first two children, the younger sons must return to live with their maiden aunts in Adelaide for their education. Ronald and Lina returned to Adelaide, South Australia, in 1935. The plan was to stay a year, and then off to Sudan once again. However, it didn’t go as planned. Agnes, their daughter, became gravely ill with meningitis early in 1936. She survived but had to learn to walk and talk again.

*[Photo 8: 1935 Furlough with family together and Aunt Clara © courtesy L.M. Kling 1935]

Consequently, later in 1936, Ronald set off for Sudan alone after Agnes had recovered.

In Agnes’s memoir, their mum took the boys to live with her family in Yorktown for a year in 1938 while their dad was away on mission in Sudan.

In 1939, Lina joined her husband in Sudan while my dad and Paul stayed with the maiden aunts. During the war years, from 1939 to 1944, Ronald and Lina were on mission in Sudan.

The values of this era were self-sacrifice and obeying God’s calling before family. Plus they considered their children’s educational needs would be better served in Adelaide, South Australia rather than Sudan. Hence, Ronald’s and Lina’s decision to once more venture back to Sudan without their children—a decision the future wives of David and Paul (the dear aunts preferred David to Clement, and Paul to Leonhard), had an issue with. David, Clement by nature, and just that little bit older, took the separation from his mother with a stiff upper lip and in his stride. Dad had fond memories of staying with his maiden aunts. But Paul, being younger, was more of a feisty character and suffered from a sense of abandonment as a child.

Ronald then took two more mission trips to Sudan; 1946 to 1950, then 1951 to 1954. During his time on furlough in 1950, he visited Ernabella where his eldest son Ron was teaching the Pitjantjatjara people, and also Hermannsburg where my Grandpa Sam Gross was pastor at the time. This was before my dad and mum had met each other. It shows the connections in Christian circles and across denominations.

Lina stayed in Adelaide for the 1946 —1950 stint to Sudan but joined Ronald for his final 1951—1954 visit.

In 1954, Ronald had “retired” from the mission field and had taken up a position as a doctor at Hillcrest Psychiatric Hospital. He made an indelible impression there, remembered fondly by former patients.

Even in his golden years of real retirement, furthering the cause of Christ remained the driving force of his life. He never stopped witnessing and sharing the gospel whenever the Lord provided opportunities. In the last years of his life, after his dear wife died, he moved up to Alice Springs to manage a Christian bookshop.

*[Photo 8: A Visit to New Zealand © Bob Alcorn 1968]

However, this venture didn’t last as he became ill with leukemia. He returned to Adelaide and moved into a flat in the Lutheran Homes Retirement village in Payneham.

Illness didn’t stop him from being a missionary on home soil. In the months before he died, he bought an Italian dictionary so that he could share God’s love and the good news of salvation with his Italian gardener.

I remember my grandpa as a kind man who had a smile with his one remaining tooth in his mouth. He would make a joke about the Trudinger trait (pronounced tray) of twiddling thumbs. He taught my brother Richard to make bird calls with a leaf.

By the time I was born, Ronald and Lina were living in Walsall Street, Kensington Park, in the Norwood area. At three, I remember getting bored with all the people around for a big T-Team family gathering. I went off exploring, and mum found me sleeping under the bed on a pair of shoes.

*[Photo 9: The T-Team Gathering: Ronald and Lina and descendants © J.W. Gross 1966]

I know where I was when Grandpa died. I was five. We were in the FJ Holden driving up to “see” Grandpa. Well, I thought we were. Then Dad announced that Grandpa had died. I was confused why we’d been going to see Grandpa if he had died. Hadn’t he gone to Heaven? After all, he was one of the most God-loving people I knew. Upon reflection, perhaps Dad needed to visit Grandpa’s flat to sort out some paperwork with the Lutheran Homes.

Ronald Trudinger died December 21, 1968. He had lived a full and productive life and with his missionary heart had spread the good news of Jesus Christ, his Lord and Saviour.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2025

Feature Photo: Ronald Trudinger with his sons © courtesy L.M. Kling circa 1965

Resources:

Australian Dictionary of Evangelical Biography – TRUDINGER, Ronald (1886-1968)

Trove

My Heritage Old News Articles and links

Diary of Dora Hoopmann

Memoir of Agnes Dora Alcorn

A Hoopmann of Heiligenrode © Lotte Hoopmann 2004

Die Familie Schammer © Reinhold Becker 1922 (Translated into English by Rebecca Gnüchtel 2009)

***

Want to discover more about the T-Team?

Join the adventures of the Intrepid T-Team as they embark on their Central Australian Safaris in my travel memoirs:

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

100-words or more on Friday

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Water—Theft

Water and Theft are the prevailing themes this week. On Tuesday I was rudely awoken from my slumber by Hubby rampaging through the bedroom in search of his transport pass. With a sigh, I got up and helped in the search. After scouring the house, Hubby looked online and discovered someone had used his card the previous Sunday. Not him. The card had indeed been stolen. Hence the process of cancelling the card and transferring the funds to a new one. I’d like to see the disappointed expression on the face of whoever nicked the card when they try to use it next.

Meanwhile, Adelaide’s seawaters have been plagued by a nasty algal-bloom; the worst in the world—ever in all history, apparently. Dead sea creatures have been washing up on shore in apocalyptic proportions. Mum’s neighbour is putting in a swimming pool. No swimming in the beach waters this summer, or many to come. Mum and I lunched by the beach at Glenelg curious to see how discoloured the water would be and how many dead fish and other creatures we’d spot on the shore. We’re still alive. Didn’t notice any discolouration of the sea. Saw some birds skimming the water and diving for fish. Good luck to them, I say.

August is almost over, and Adelaide has been enjoying the SALA festival, I thought this cheeky little piece, a 100-word challenge might fit the bill, so to speak. The actual incident of imagined “water-theft” took place several years ago, but I believe the gallery involved still takes their rules very seriously.

100-word Challenge

Stolen…Almost

 ‘Where can we get some water?’ my friend asked.

I pointed at the casket of spring water languishing in the gallery. ‘There’s some just there.’ A glass wall confined the well-watered and wined gallery guests. We had been guests, but this gallery was devoid of seats. We wanted to sit. And eat.

‘Sign there bans wine not water.’

I stowed into gallery, collected cups of water and walked to the door.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ self-appointed wine-police snapped.

I placed the stolen water back on the table and left.

Transubstantiation. My first virtual miracle; turning water into wine.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2019; updated 2023; 2025

Feature Photo: Taking their Chances Fishing; Sea birds at Glenelg Beach © L.M. Kling 2025

***

Want more memoir? Some travel?

Take a journey into Central Australia with the T-Team…

Click on the links:

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or

If Sci-fi is more your thing

Check out my War Against Boris series…

The Hitch-hiker

Mission of the Unwilling

The Lost World of the Wends

Diamonds in the Cave (New Release)

Friday Fiction–Choice Bite (4)

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Last Slice of the Black Forest —

Günter’s Wish Granted

Günter hobbled up the path to his house. His feet squashed into shoes now too small for him. Just before he entered, Günter examined his reflection in the window. He touched his pink cheeks and admired the sculptured perfection—the high forehead with no acne, the strong chin with no spots but a beard like a man, and hair straight, golden and manageable. He patted the top of his head. ‘Hmm, a bit thin on top,’ he mumbled. ‘Oh, well, now I can be happy that not even my brother Johann was perfect.’

Grandmother flung open the door. Günter slammed against the window. The wood panel blocked her view of Günter. ‘Now what am I going to do? The dinner is burnt,’ she said. ‘Where is he?’

Boris peeped around the corner of the house. ‘Forgotten something?’

He handed Günter a pile of folded clothes.

‘Can’t go around the village dressed like a boy, now, can you?’ Boris said, then vanished into the night.

Once Grandmother withdrew back into the house, Günter tiptoed to the outhouse and changed into Johann’s dapper tights, striped breeches and white shirt with the obligatory lacy sleeves. As he strolled to the front door, he heard screams and then a slap. Then he saw Anna run down the path, and a gangly looking fellow in underclothes loping after her.

Günter pushed open the door and walked into the kitchen. Grandmother continued her waltz with the broom, sweeping the cracked black and white tiles. A cloud of dust chased her around the room as she swept.

‘Your soup is on the stove, Johann,’ she announced in a sing-song voice, much like a yodel.

Salome leaned on the balustrade of the stairs, her blonde locks pasted to her perspiring temples.

She shook her head and stated, ‘At the inn again, I presume.’

Günter tugged at the hem of his shirt as Johann always did and said what Johann always said, ‘A man has got to do what a man has got to do.’

The door burst open, and his brother stumbled in, sporting a red welt on his cheek.

Salome launched into him like a fishmonger’s wife on an errant husband. ‘What have you been doing? How hard is it to find your brother? No supper for you. Off you go—bed—go on!’ She grabbed Grandmother’s broom and chased Johann in the form of Günter into his sleeping quarters, with Johann crying protests all the way.

Günter hid his urge to smile behind his hand.

After helping himself to pumpkin soup and bread, Günter yawned and mumbled his excuses for an early night and trotted upstairs to the bed he shared with his older, now younger brother. Oh, what a night it would be, sleeping on the less lumpy side for once, hogging the quilt and tormenting his brother. It was payback time.

The benefits of being Johann did not stop there. The next day, as he strolled in the village streets, men tipped their hats, women weaved out of their way through the crowd over to him and gifted him with fruit, home-made honey biscuits and apple cake. Milk maids, those same ones who reviled him the day before, this time, fluttered their lashes, blushed and shot him sideways glances. The tallest of the three sidled up to him as he stood talking to the tailor while they discussed his jacket for the May Day dance, and she pressed a note into his hand. Mein Gott, what a life!

Meanwhile, his brother languished under the whip of Grandmother’s broom when she heard he’d been expelled from school—again. Ah, sweet revenge.

Then the icing on the kuchen—lunch with Anna. He arranged a picnic by the river. Blue skies, tulips blooming, green grass, the birds singing and the bees humming. What a picture! What a day with is maiden in his arms. Anna talked non-stop the whole two hours. Günter as his brother, held his tongue when she prattled on about how she detested Johann’s younger brother, especially after the prank he pulled the previous night.

‘He’s creepy,’ she said and shuddered, ‘he tried to grope me. Ugh!’

Her words stabbed at his insides. He realised as Günter he never had a chance.

After Günter walked Anna back to the school where she helped her father who was the school master there, he spent the afternoon brooding, drinking beer at the Bier Haus until he was almost sick. Then he tramped through the forest alone. The novelty of being Johann had worn off and revenge didn’t seem as sweet anymore.

At the dinner table Johann as Günter raged. ‘I’m not Günter,’ he yelled and stabbed the table with his fork. ‘What is wrong with you people?’

Their mother made one of her rare appearances downstairs, but she seemed far away and unmoved by Johann’s tantrum.

Günter decided he had to leave. His face tingled as he slipped out of the house and hastened to the clearing with the moss-covered log; the meeting place appointed by Boris.

The ground glowed with warped and weird shapes under the strange luminous disk that hovered over the hill. No frogs croaked. No birds chirped. The air was still and cold. Even the cows refrained from braying.

Günter sat on the log and waited. Time seemed to stop in the silence.

A beam shimmered from the disk. Günter rubbed his eyes and blinked. Boris materialised in the centre of the beam. He appeared cockroach-shaped, then, as he strode toward Günter, he morphed into human-form.

‘Well, now, Herr Fahrer, have you decided?’ Boris asked.

‘Yes, I have.’

‘Well, then.’

‘More than anything else, I want to be handsome, brave, attractive to the ladies like my brother Johann. But I want to be myself, not someone else.’

Boris raised one side of the hairy eyebrow that spanned his forehead. ‘Very well, then.’

‘And one more thing, you know, like a package?’

‘Yes?’

‘Could I, with this new face, have a new life, say like in the Great South Land?’

‘Hmm,’ Boris nodded, ‘that can be arranged, if you wish. But…’

‘What?’

Boris coughed and flapped his wings. ‘You’re not going to fit in with the people who live there at the moment. I’d say wait until I’ve finished with Great Britain …’ He paced the clearing with his hands tucked behind his back. ‘In the meantime, I could take you on an adventure up there, into the far reaches of the galaxy. Consider it an added bonus, seeing what no man on this planet has seen before. What do you say?’

‘Ja, voll!’

‘Just sign here.’

Boris presented Günter with the tablet, its screen chock full of tiny black lines. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘it’s all routine. Just basically says you take responsibility for your decisions. Just covering my back and yours. You know, some civilisations can be quite litigious.’ Boris handed a fine pointy stick to Günter. ‘Use this pen to sign your name.’

Günter signed his name using the fine script he had learnt at school, and within seconds, he sat in a velvet-covered chair on the bridge of Boris’s ship. The walls shone with fresh white paint, the silver instruments gleamed, and the furnishings were scented with potpourri. He studied the sun as it shrank to just a speck of light amongst many specks of light.

Boris reclined on his seat, fully armoured, fully cockroach. ‘You should notice the changes in your form soon, my fellow.’

Günter tingled all over and he glanced at his hand. His warm, fuzzy sensation turned to cold hard panic.

‘My hand!’ he cried wriggling his three elongated fingers. ‘I’m turning grey!’

‘So, there you go,’ Boris said as he adjusted his light shields. ‘Right on schedule.’

Günter picked up a looking glass placed at his side and his hand trembled. He glared bug-eyed at his reflection. ‘I’m turning into a praying-mantis.’

‘You didn’t specify you wanted to be human.’

‘But a stick-insect? I’m hideous!’

Boris folded his four hands over his barrel chest. ‘So? Most Greys are females. So, you, as a male, will be most attractive to them.’

Günter unstrapped himself and jumped from his seat. He ran to the viewing screen. With his long fingers he traced the planets and sun of his solar system. ‘I have changed my mind. I want to go home.’

Boris smacked his lips and readjusted his bottom’s position on his seat. ‘Too late. You’ve signed the contract. Didn’t you read the fine print? All choices are final and cannot be changed.’

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2018; updated 2023; 2025

Feature photo: A door, Romantic Road, Bavaria © L.M. Kling 2014

Read more of the consequences of Günter’s choices, the adventure, the war against Boris. Discover the up close, personal and rather awkward relationship between Günter and that nasty piece of cockroach-alien work Boris in my novels …

New Release

Diamonds in the Cave

How could a most pleasant bunch of Wends turn so nasty? Witch-hunting nasty.

Click on the link above and find out.

Or for more Weekend Reading…

Go on a reading binge and discover the up close, personal and rather awkward relationship between Günter and that nasty piece of cockroach-alien work Boris in…

The Hitch-hiker

Mission of the Unwilling

The Lost World of the Wends

Friday Fiction–The Choice Bite (3)

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Short Story: Black Forest…in Bite-sized Bits

Bit 3

The Temptation of Günter

‘What’s the matter?’

Günter glanced up. ‘Nothing.’

He sniffed and observed the slim man with a pale face and a monk’s haircut. He held a thin board similar to a slate under his arm.

‘Doesn’t look like nothing,’ the man said.

‘Nothing you can help me with,’ Günter replied. ‘You are the magic man, are you not?’

The man threw back his small head. ‘Hardly magic, my son. Merely science. You have heard of Physics?’

‘Yeah…but…’

‘Tell you what, you look like you’ve had a rough trot.’ The man took what looked like this slate from under his arm. The slate had a shiny surface. ‘How about I make your day.’ He ran his finger down the front of it.

‘Who are you?’

‘Just call me, Herr Roach.’

‘Herr Roth? Mr Red?’

‘No, Roach, as in Cockroach?’

‘Huh?’

‘Never mind—call me Boris,’ the man answered as he cleared his throat.

A whirring sound came from behind him and for a moment Günter thought he saw dark wings of lace flutter and then snap into the man’s back. Were his eyes playing tricks on him?

Boris’s mouth spread into a wide grin with teeth in a neat row like keys on a piano. ‘Now where were we? As I was saying, anything you want, anything at all. Whatever you desire, your wish is my—oh, dear, that sounds a bit lame. Now, what is your greatest desire, and I will make it so.’

‘You will?’

‘Yes, I will.’

Boris balanced the slate board on the tip of his finger. ‘Money, gold, wisdom—women and so on—you know the drill. Whatever.’ He flicked the slate front with his finger and made it spin through the air around their heads.

Günter, his eyes wide, gazed as the object slowed and fluttered into a butterfly and then settled on the log where he’d been sitting.

‘Wow! How did you do that?’

‘I’m still awaiting your answer. Anything you want.’

‘But it changed shape. You made it come alive.’

‘Never mind that—anything at all, it’s yours.’

‘Aber, what are you?’ Günter asked. He tried to catch the butterfly but it flew high above his head.

‘Oh, that’s hardly important,’ Boris said. ‘Come on, I’m waiting for your answer.’

‘I want to know,’ Günter reached for Boris, ‘where you are from.’

‘Not from this world,’ Boris stepped away from him and his arm became a tentacle and whipped Gunter’s hand. ‘Now hurry up! Tell me.’

Günter rubbed his fingers. ‘Are you a demon?’

‘Oh, Herr Fahrer, how could you think such a thing? I’m insulted.’

‘Ja, aber for a man, you have some strange appendages.’

‘That’s because, I’m evolved, my race is superior to yours.’ Boris narrowed his beady eyes and antennae sprang out from the top of his head. With his mouth closed he fed thoughts into Günter’s mind. ‘I don’t need a voice or a mouth. I can communicate my thoughts to you. So much simpler, don’t you think?’

Boris clicked his fingers and the butterfly floated into his open hands and turned once again into a slate board.

‘Now what will you have,’ Boris demanded with his thoughts, ‘Anything you want.’

The young man scanned the darkening sky and then spotted the first evening star glowing on the horizon.

‘Nay,’ Boris said, ‘further than Venus. Much further. The other side of the galaxy if you must know.’

‘Galaxy?’

‘Come on, I’m waiting, I haven’t got all century. Then in thoughts almost a whisper. ‘Got slaves to catch, planets to conquer.’

‘What? Did you say something?’

‘Are you a dumkopf? Tell me what you want!’

Dumkopf! Dumkopf! Günter hated being ridiculed. No, he wasn’t stupid. He sighed. ‘I hate my life. And you know, I hate this world I live in. I hate who I am. No one will miss me if I go.’ He trod towards Boris. ‘Can I go to your world?’

Boris edged away. ‘Well, now, there’s the thing. My world sort of exploded. You could say I’m homeless.’

‘Oh, sorry to hear that.’

‘Any other suggestions?’ Boris’s eyes glowed in the navy blue of early night. ‘I can change you like I did the slate, if you like.’

Günter picked at his nails. ‘I would not like to be a butterfly.’

‘You can be anything—anyone.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, no trouble at all.’

‘I could be a different person. No big nose. No brown curly hair. No pimples.’

‘Certainly, if that’s what you want,’ Boris said and flashed his wings.

Günter pondered. Maybe demons do exist. Maybe his grandmother was right. ‘I don’t know.’ A shiver coursed down his spine. ‘I think I should be getting home. I am late for dinner.’ As he backed away, an owl hooted.

‘What about a free trial? Can do no harm, Herr Fahrer.’ The man-beast followed Günter down the path. ‘Just one day, no obligation.’

Günter stopped and turned. ‘Only one day?’

‘Yes, that’s what I said.’

‘Anything? Anything I want?’

‘Yes.’

Günter stroked his chin. ‘Well, then, can you make me into my brother, Johann?’

‘Yes, I can do that.’

Boris pulled a stick from his stockings and plugged it into the slate. He tapped the surface. Writing appeared which he read for a few moments.

Then from a pocket in his cape, he pulled out a bottle. He tapped the bottle, picked out a pill, snapped it in half and handed the half-pill to Günter.

‘Eat this and think of your brother, Johann,’ Boris said.

Günter gulped down the pill. The slimy coating left a fishy after-taste on his tongue. He licked his lips, he had an idea. ‘I know, even better. Johann can become me. Then he’ll know how it feels.’

Boris rolled his eyes. ‘You’re a bright one, you should’ve thought about that before I gave you the Blob Fish pill.’

‘What? You can’t?’

‘I can,’ Boris said with a sigh, ‘but it will be a challenge. I do have the other half of the pill, so we’ll see what we can do.’ He rubbed the pill fragment between his finger and thumb. ‘Now, then I better hurry to do what you have requested. So, my boy, run along home, by the time you get there, you’ll be Johann.’

Günter turned to go.

‘Just one more thing, where exactly is your brother?’ Boris asked.

‘In the barn, always in the barn.’

‘Very well, enjoy!’ Boris said as wings sprouted from his back, he rose into the air and buzzed all the way up the hill to the barn.

Günter pelted up the path to his home on the hill.

[…to be continued, next week for the stunning conclusion.]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2018; updated 2023; 2025

Feature Photo: Butterfly in Motion © L.M. Kling 2013

***

New Release

Diamonds in the Cave

How could a most pleasant bunch of Wends turn so nasty? Witch hunting nasty.

Click on the link above and find out.

Or for more Weekend Reading…

Go on a reading binge and discover the up close, personal and rather awkward relationship between Gunter and that nasty piece of cockroach-alien work Boris in…

The Hitch-hiker

See how Boris seeks revenge in…

Mission of the Unwilling

And the Mischief and Mayhem Boris manufactures in…

The Lost World of the Wends…

***

Not into Sci-fi?

Check out my travel memoirs for

Some real, outback Aussie adventure…

Click on the links for:

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Friday Fiction Continued

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

The Choice—Bits (2)

Short Story: Black Forest…in Bite-sized Bits

Bit 2: Günter‘s heartbreak

The planks of wood that resembled a door scraped on the stone floor as Günter entered. Wailing from above greeted him, as did the damp musty smell. A rat scuttled along the wall of peeling rose wallpaper and through a crack. Günter feared that with the damp and vermin, it would not be long before the family succumbed to Typhus. He’d witnessed the fate of his merchant friends in the village—all eight of them gone in one winter. Their two-storey home in the village square had to be demolished as no one would buy it.

Günter strode to the fireplace, the flames crackling on the wood chips comforted him. He stood with his back to the fire and watched his grandmother, Sophie emerge from the kitchen wiping her hands on her once-white apron.

‘What’s wrong with her today?’ Günter asked.

‘Says nurse tried to poison her,’ Sophie said as she glanced at the tall Nordic woman scrubbing a pot in the kitchen wash basin.

His mother’s screams warbled, resonating from the room above them and bouncing off the rose-printed walls. Günter and his grandmother looked at each other. They knew they couldn’t compete with the Banshee screaming. Günter heard his sister cooing, calming the troubled beast.

The screams subsided to moans. Sophie wiped her damp forehead. ‘We really need to see the priest and get those demons out.’

Günter tapped his temple. ‘It is nothing to do with demons, Grossmutter. Mutti has something wrong with her mind. Her brain is kaput.’

His grandmother ignored his comment. She manoeuvred her ample form through the labyrinth of tables, armchairs and Günter’s latest model of the solar system to where her grandson stood. In her hand she cupped yellow powder. ‘See? I got this from the market. It’s called Turmeric. This is what I put in her soup that Nurse gave her. It is a spice from India. It is meant to heal Mutti.’ She lifted the powder to her nose and sniffed. ‘It is wonderful! I have some in my food every day and I swear it has cured my aching bones.’

‘Really?’ Günter pinched a sample and licked it. ‘It does not taste so special.’

‘But when you put it in—’

The wailing started again. Günter sighed. Grandmother waddled to the table and began scrubbing it. Despite his sister, Salome’s pleading and urging to placate her mother’s rages, the screams rose to a crescendo.

Günter shut his mind to the agonised cries and dreamed of a faraway land, the Great South Land. His father had told him about this land. As a lad, Günter’s age, his father had been a deckhand on a Portuguese ship that had explored the South Seas. The ship had been destroyed in a storm off the Great South continent. His father never really explained how he survived or returned to his home in the Schwartzwald. Most of his family and friends did not believe the salty sea tales of August Fahrer—they were just his fantasy. But Günter believed his father and he dreamed of one day running away to Hamburg, joining a crew and sailing to that faraway land down on the underside of the world. He also dreamed he’d take Anna with him…so what if she was eighteen and he was only fourteen. So what if she barely noticed him in the classroom. What did it matter she was Herr Crankendinger’s daughter?

‘Günter!’ Grandmother called, ‘Günter!’

‘Huh?’ His mother’s warbling like a sad song still rang in his ears.

‘Go and find your brother, Johann. Dinner is ready.’

Günter tore out of the mad house. He galloped across the yard full of chicks and hens, sending the birds flapping and squawking in all directions. The barn—Johann, since he’d returned from the army, was always in the barn. What did he do in the barn all day when he was home on furlough? Just sharpen and buff his swords? He had other weaponry, but Günter hadn’t been allowed close enough to examine those items. Johann never allowed Günter in the barn. That was his domain to sharpen and buff and admire his weapons. Johann possessed a cart that he stored at the side of the barn. But he neglected the cart and it sat, exposed to the rain and snow, wood rotting, leaning on its broken axle and its cracked wheel propped against the shattered side.

Günter patted the cart-wreck and then poked his head through the wide opening and into the darkness. The stink of horse manure mingled with straw hit his nostrils. He looked around and blinked.

‘Johann!’ he called. ‘Dinner is ready.’

Günter stepped into the darkness. He noticed propped against the wall a small canon-like weapon. He’d heard about such weapons. What were they called? He stepped towards the weapon, his fingers itching to touch it.

‘Johann,’ he said and paused.

Sounds of shuffling and muted giggles filtered down from above. Günter jumped back from the weapon and looked up. He allowed his eyes to adjust.

More scuffles. Whispers. Was his brother not alone?

‘Johann. You must come to dinner,’ Günter said.

‘What?’ Johann poked his head over the edge of the loft.

Günter stared. A scene in slow motion played out on the mezzanine floor. A barrel teetered. It tipped. And then it toppled over the edge.

‘Watch out!’ Johann said, his vocal reflexes delayed by the shock.

The barrel hurtled down. Günter woke from his brain freeze. Still in slow motion, the barrel cartwheeled in the air towards him. Frame by frame. Günter’s short life flashed on a screen in his mind.

‘Nay!’ Günter shrieked and he jumped.

The barrel crashed on the packed dirt of floor, beer exploding and splashing all over his white shirt, leather pants and black shoes staining their square metal buckles.

Johann appeared leaning over the ledge and buttoning up his blouse. ‘Oops!’

‘Was is los?’ a woman’s voice asked what’s wrong?

Günter caught his breath, as if his heart had jumped out of his throat. He knew that woman’s voice, but he didn’t want to believe it was her.

‘What is going on?’ he asked.

‘This is your fault, Günter,’ Johann said as he glared at the rivers of beer coursing outside, rivers of blood reflected in the scarlet rays of the setting sun. ‘If you hadn’t interrupted us. How many times have I told you, you are not to come into my barn?’

‘But what are you doing up there?’

‘Never you mind.’

Her small oval face loomed from the darkness behind Johann’s.

Günter choked. His mouth went dry. ‘Anna?’ he said, his voice cracked into a squeak.

Johann flicked his fingers at Günter. ‘Get out of here!’

Günter took a few steps back. ‘Aber…’

‘And don’t you tell Grossmutter! It’s none of her business!’

‘Why?’ Günter asked. ‘She’ll want to know about the mess…with the beer.’

‘Just don’t. Go! Mach Schnell!’

Günter backed out of the barn. Blinded by the light and eyes clouded with moisture, he stumbled into the forest.

He howled and hated himself. He sounded like his mother wailing and carrying on but the crying took on a force of its own and refused to stop. Now who would he take to the Great South Land? Now who would share his dreams of adventure and fantasies of travel to the stars?

How could Anna do this to him? She’d painted his portrait, without the pimples and a less prominent Hoch-Blauen nose. Günter blew his nose on his sleeve. So what! It’s already soiled by the beer. He thought Anna liked him. He’d convinced himself Anna understood him—Anna intelligent, artistic, hair golden like the sun, and eyes dazzling blue like a lake on a summer’s day. One day Anna would get to know him and love him…but no. He whimpered. ‘Johann!’ He smashed his fist into the moss on the log. ‘Always Johann!’

[to be continued…]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2018; updated 2023; 2025

Feature Photo: A Rustic Cottage © L.M. Kling 2014

***

Fresh off the virtual press,

The next in the War Against Boris Series — Diamonds in the Cave

Discover how a bunch of kind, charming 19th Century Wends turn into a blood-thirsty mob baying for the burnt blood of “witches”.

Check out my new novel, click on the link:

Diamonds in the Cave

Or for more Holiday Reading…

Go on a reading binge and discover the up close, personal and rather awkward relationship between Günter and that nasty piece of cockroach-alien work Boris in…

The Hitch-hiker

See how Boris seeks revenge in…

Mission of the Unwilling

And the Mischief and Mayhem Boris manufactures in…

The Lost World of the Wends…

Friday Fiction — New Release

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

[My new novel, Diamonds in the Cave, is available to download on Amazon Kindle.

For a sample of where some of the main characters have come from, a short story which will be serialised over the next few weeks. This one focuses on Minna’s future love-interest, Günter and his origins.]

The Choice—Bits

Short Story: Black Forest…in Bite-sized Bits

Bit 1: The Centripetal Force of Günter

Herr Crankendinger cracked the switch on Günter’s open hand. The lad, fourteen years old, the in-between of boy and man, clenched his teeth. He locked eyes with the scowling school master. Günter had the urge to snigger. Not a good urge to have when the school master is beating his hand. Günter pushed down the bubble of snigger rising from his beating chest. His stomach churned, and all fizzed up, the snigger with a mind of its own, rumbled in his throat and then slipped out of his curled mouth.

‘Dumkopf!’ Herr Crankdinger screamed. He hammered the boy’s palm again and again. ‘You will learn!’

‘Aber, the water in the bucket is held by centripetal force, not magic. The man at the Show is not the devil.’

Herr C’s face glowed red and his ice-blue eyes bulged. He stomped his one foot and peg-leg (a casualty of the Thirty Years War), and cried, ‘Heretic!’

In the candle-lit chapel, thirty-nine pairs of eyes stared at their castigated classmate, and the owners of those eyes froze on their cedar benches. One boy in the back row tittered.

Encouraged by the titter of support, Günter continued, ‘Gravity, have you not heard of gravity? Have you not heard of Isaac Newton?’

‘Oaf!’ The teacher pointed at the door. ‘Witch! And don’t come back! Your education is finished. Understand?’

‘Never learnt anything here,’ Günter muttered as he strode between the rows of school boys towards the heavy doors made of oak.

He pushed one open, squeezed through and then bolted. Pigeons fluttered as Günter ripped through the town square, of the small village in the Schwartzwald (Black Forest). First flush of spring made Günter a bundle of nervous energy, especially when he saw three milk maids delivering their buckets full of cow juice to the stalls in the square. He looked at the blonde triplets in their puffy cotton sleeves and blue pinafore dresses, and he stumbled on the cobble stones.

The girls sheered away from him.

‘Oh, keep away from the plague,’ one said loud enough for him to hear.

‘Ugh, he smells like cow dung.’

‘No one would want to marry him.’

‘All he attracts is bugs and flies.’

And the three girls giggled.

‘You’re no beauties yourselves,’ Günter muttered as he dug his hands in his pockets. He didn’t care it was bad manners to dig hands in pockets. Too bad, he thought, then tramped up the hill to his home.

On the way up, Günter glanced in a pond. His nose like the Blauen-Hoch dominated his dusky face, and pimples gathered in clumps like pine trees on his high forehead, square chin and of course, his mountain of a nose. He pulled his thick dark curls over his face to hide the awkward ugliness, and then with his head down and hands buried in his pockets, Günter shuffled up to his home presiding over the village, a mansion crumbling with neglect.

How long before his home looks like those Roman ruins down the road? Günter wondered. Another victim of the Thirty years war that had dominated life in the 17th Century. So close to the sanctuary of Switzerland, and yet…his father had to go and join the cause. So did his older brother Johann. How could Günter as a boy keep the house and home together?

[…to be continued]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2018; updated 2025

Feature Photo: Black Forest © L.M. Kling 2014

***

Fresh off the virtual press,

The next in the War Against Boris Series — Diamonds in the Cave

Discover how a community of kind, charming 19th Century Wends turn into a blood-thirsty mob baying for the burnt blood of “witches”.

Check out my new novel, click on the link:

Diamonds in the Cave

Or for more Holiday Reading…

Go on a reading binge and discover the up close, personal and rather awkward relationship between Günter and that nasty piece of cockroach-alien work Boris in…

The Hitch-hiker

See how Boris seeks revenge in…

Mission of the Unwilling

And the Mischief and Mayhem Boris manufactures in…

The Lost World of the Wends…

Friday Crime–The Culvert (33)

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

[Currently, I have three of my paintings displayed at the Blackwood Rotary Art show which is on for the next couple of weeks. If you are in Adelaide, check it out. A number of us Marion Art Group artists have our work in there. Hence, one of these paintings, my painting, the feature painting of Mt. Zonder which has nothing to do with the ongoing saga of my Friday serial, “The Culvert”.

I post this work-in-progress for your entertainment and also, feedback, if you are so inclined to give some feedback.

Cheers, Lee-Anne]

Collaboration

Thursday, May 19

10am

Police HQ

El

El stood beside the multimedia touch screen and created a Venn Diagram. She felt awkward, like an imposter—she shouldn’t be here. But here she was. She glanced at the patent label down the bottom of the screen, in teeny weeny script, “All rights reserved, Sven von Erikson” and again, was not sure they should be using this programme.

Dan assured her it would be fine and that he’d been using the so-called collaborative/crowd-sourcing material for months. ‘If it helps catch the culprits, what harm can it do?’

El pointed at the middle of the intersecting circle where the name of Sven von Erikson was written in bold Arial script. ‘But he’s a suspect, Dan. Who says he won’t fiddle with the programming and make sure he disappears?’

‘I’m sure he won’t do that,’ Dan replied. ‘After all, he wouldn’t have given me the programme to test, if he didn’t want crimes solved too.’

‘Keep your enemies closer,’ El muttered.

‘He’s a friend,’ Dan said. ‘Besides, if it’s a success the department will be rolling it out Australia wide.’

‘I prefer the old-fashioned whiteboard and Blue Tak,’ Dee plopped her comment in, ‘all this technology is begging for stuff to go wrong. I hate technology.’

‘Why don’t you go down to the basement and dig out an old whiteboard and Blue Tak then,’ Dan said.

‘Rather not, all that dust gives me hay fever.’ Dee shook her head. ‘Anyway, I’ve got my investigation mapped out on a wall at home.’

The three studied the diagram with the intersection of suspects who out-numbered the witnesses on either side. Dan tapped the name of Lille’s and Sven’s father, Jan von Erikson. ‘Where’s he?’

‘If he’s still alive, he’d be ninety-two,’ Dee said. ‘But I do remember from my research that he walked out on the family back in 1977.’

‘Right, Dee,’ Dan said, ‘I want you to find out where Mr. von E went and what he’s been doing all this time. No one ever reported him missing?’

‘Appears not, seems they just accepted he walked out and wanted nothing more to do with the family,’ Dee said.

‘Now, El, let’s not assume, but confirm if he’s dead or alive, and when and where he might’ve died or where he’s living now. I want you to go where the von Erikson’s lived at the time, I have the address here,’ Dan handed El a slip of paper, ‘and ask around. You never know, there maybe someone who remembers something.’

‘What about the Edwardes’s?’ Dee asked.

‘They’re a no go at the moment; Lillie has put in a complaint of harassment. So, we have to tread carefully until we have more solid evidence,’ Dan said. ‘I’ll be continuing to gather information concerning Percy Edwards and his murder.’

Dee raised her hand. ‘What about the trafficking of the baby Lillie had back in 1981?’

‘That will need to be put to one side until after we sort out the murders,’ Dan said. ‘Now, we have our work cut out for us, so let’s get onto it.’

© Tessa Trudinger 2025

Feature Photo: Memories of Mt. Zonder © L.M. Kling

***

Sometimes characters spring from real life,

Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.

Sometimes real life is just real life.

Check out my travel memoirs,

And escape in time and space

To Central Australia.

Click on the links:

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or for a greater escape into another world…

Check out my Sci-fi/ dystopian novel,

And click on the link:

The Lost World of the Wends

Down the Rabbit-Hole–Family History Revisited

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

Oh, dear! I must’ve been deep in the rabbit-hole of painting yesterday. See what I painted in one sunny mid-winter’s afternoon, yesterday. Anyway, being what was intended to be Family History Friday for Tru-Kling Creations, went down a rabbit-hole and ended up somewhere else.

Check out the re-blog of the story of my great-great grandfather from Silesia.

Family History Friday–Admire

Friday Crime–The Culvert (32)

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

Mouth Full of Berries

Wednesday, May 18, 2022

Brighton

Francis Renard

Again, a detective sat opposite Francis. This one was female and wore a smug expression. Introduced herself as Detective Dee Berry. She announced that she had further questions that must be answered into the cold case inquiry of the hit-and-run of Milo Katz.

Francis Renard watched as this woman who he vaguely remembered from his youth purse her lips as if her mouth were full of berries. He noted that his wife, Eloise had made herself scarce. Gone for a walk on the beach. A fine morning for it, so she said after hearing Dee Berry was coming to visit.

[Photo 1: Brighton Beach © L.M. Kling 2007]

“You’ll be fine,” El promised, before departing, leaving him to be fed to the “shark”. “Text me if she becomes too much of a problem. Besides, Zoe’s in the next room.”

So, this lady detective opened her strawberry-coloured lips and said sweetly, ‘I have some news for you, Mr. Renard.’

‘Really?’ he shifted his wiry body in the occasional lounge chair making it squeak. ‘I really think I told your partner, Dan Hooper everything I can remember from back then.’

*[Photo 2: Occasional Lounge Chairs for occasional sitting © L.M. Kling 2016]

‘Can you remind me who you spent the night with, and where on the night in question?’

‘Er…um…well, it’s a long time ago,’ Renard paused, and decided to change the subject. ‘You look familiar, do I know you from a past life?’

Her expression soured. ‘We used to go out, around that time, Francis.’

‘Did we? I-I don’t…’

‘Obviously not,’ Dee said, glaring at him. ‘Just to clear the air, you stood me up at my own end of school party. Then later, you said that you were there, but you weren’t. I have it in my diary and you’re in none of the photos. And…’ Dee raised her hand for emphasis, ‘this is the best part, we have witnesses, and subsequent evidence that place you and your Kombi at Sellicks Beach on that night when Milo Katz was run over. Would you like to comment, Mr. Renard?’

*[Painting 3: The Kombi © L.M. Kling 2015]

‘Er…er…’ Renard fiddled with his phone trying to surreptitiously send an S.O.S. to El. ‘Wh-what evidence?’

‘Some pretty solid evidence,’ Dee rubbed her hands together. ‘On the night in question, witnesses reported that you spent the evening with a certain young lady. Do you remember? Or have you forgotten her too?’

‘Um…probably, there were a lot of them back then.’

Dee leaned back in her chair. Looking smug, she said, ‘It would seem there was fruit from your labours, Mr. Renard. Nine months later, a girl called Zoe Thomas was born. We believe this child is yours Mr. Renard.’

Renard looked up and beyond Dee. He smiled, ‘Oh, yes, I know all about Zoe.’

The blonde standing behind Detective Berry grinned. ‘Did I hear my name in vain?’

‘Huh?’ Dee turned; her eyes widened. ‘I’m conducting an investigation here, Miss. Who are you?’

‘Zoe Thomas, Ma’am,’ she held out her hand to Dee. ‘Barrister.’

Dee refused to take her hand. ‘I see, so you’re not just a wee bit curious about your mother?’

‘I am, but at this present time, I’m more concerned with the current investigation of my father.’

‘Why?’

‘It would seem from your tone and attitude, and from what I could hear, that your history with him makes it too close and personal for you to be involved.’ Zoe narrowed her eyes at Dee. ‘You may conclude your discussion and leave now.’

*[Photo 3: Fruit—Lemons © L.M. Kling 2022]

Under Zoe’s watchful eye, Dee scrambled to gather her phone, and laptop from the coffee table and scurry out the door.

Francis clapped as they viewed Dee bumble her way to the unmarked police car. ‘Brilliant! I like having you around. You saved my bacon.’

‘Not sure being a playboy in your youth is going to help you in court, though,’ Zoe returned. ‘But you’ll keep.’

*Feature Photo: An Abundance of Oranges © L.M. Kling 2022

© Tessa Trudinger 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 (31)

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

Communication…Or Lack Of

Friday, May 13, 2022

4.30 pm, Adelaide Police HQ

Dan

While the “cat”, namely Dee was away, Dan took the opportunity to delve into the intricacies of Mr. Percy Edwards and his presumed body that had been discovered in the Mt. Lofty National Park. He mused how the unfortunate Mr. Edwards could languish just inside the culvert, under the bridge, for so long without being discovered. After all, how could the tourist traffic, plus joggers who daily climbed Adelaide’s iconic mountain, miss the remains for so long?

Dan plotted the details and questions into the von Erikson Crime solving programme and then checked over the growing chart on screen.

An email pinged its arrival. Pathologist Penny Chambers had completed the preliminaries on the corpse.

Dan opened the file and studied the results.

As he suspected, someone, had recently moved the remains. Damage to the skull had been the consequence of repeated blunt force trauma. Penny proposed that the shape and width of the damage suggested a golf club was used, most probably a wedge which weighs around 340 grams.

Dan nodded. ‘Interesting.’

The report also indicated that the damage to the skull tended to be at the front, hitting the frontal lobe, the nose and upper jaw. Four teeth from the upper jaw were missing.

‘This was personal,’ Dan whispered. ‘Someone close did this to poor Mr. Edwards.’

His mobile vibrated on his desk. Dan picked it up. ‘Yes? Dee?’

He looked at his watch. 5pm. ‘Oh, is that the time,’ he murmured.

Dee rabbited on, bemoaning the piles of disembarked passengers and dearth of taxi drivers.

‘I’ll be there in twenty minutes,’ he said while closing down the computer, then gathering up his keys. 

*[Photo 1: Hiking to Mt. Lofty © C.D. Trudinger circa 1968]

Tuesday, May 17, 2022

4-5pm, Adelaide Airport

Dee

Detective Dee Berry smiled as she descended the airport escalators. A smattering of family members had gathered to welcome their loved ones from their international travels. A man waggled his head and paced back and forth beneath the flight arrivals sign while arguing with his wife. Another couple, the bearded male wearing loose-fitting shirt and baggy trousers strode ten-paces ahead of his wife covered head to toe in a black burqa.

Reminded her of a certain Mr. Percy Edwards back in the day—1970’s. Not the ethnicity and the baggage that goes with that, but just the need for certain men, no matter what race or background, who needed to be dominant over their women. She’d see him at church racing to the entrance while his wife and children trailed behind him. What really got up her nose about the man was his attitude to women, like he was God’s gift, and all women must submit to him—worship the ground and the latest Ford he drove in.

*[Photo 2: One such Ford Falcon 1976 XB © A.N. Kling 1986]

That man Percy gave her the creeps, especially one night after youth group. She came out of the hall early and there he was, lounging near his latest Ford.

As she passed him, he lunged at her. ‘Jump in my car!’ he demanded, grabbing her arm.

Dee tore her arm away from his grasp. Swore at him—words usually reserved for her arch enemy Lillie. Then she ran. Round the block and back into the safety of the hall.

Never told a soul. But the memory stayed with her.

Dee shivered at the chilling flash back and recomposed herself.

She moved on and out from the concourse.

How Adelaide had changed, Dee thought. She remembered her youth and travelling by boat from Davenport to Melbourne in 1980. At the time she had seen an overseas tourist taking photos of the heads as they entered Port Phillip Bay. Back then, she had thought seeing such a foreigner a novelty.

At drive through/drop off and pick up road, she waited in line to hail a taxi. It seemed all of Adelaide was doing the same. At this rate she’d be waiting an eternity. She was tempted to call Dan to ask him to pick her up in his patrol car.

After an hour of languishing in the unmovable line, she did just that. She called Dan.

‘I was wondering when you’d call,’ Dan said with a sigh. ‘I’ll be there in twenty minutes.’

Dee watched the security harass lingering drivers and hurry them along. She watched the same cars pass by as they completed the circuit while waiting for their passengers to disembark and arrive at the designated pick-up point. She watched the rare taxi pull up and prospective passengers pile in.

Then she decided to make it easier for Dan and begin walking east up this drop-off road towards a less populated area. Some other wise people were doing the same. She followed them. Sure, there was a yellow line forbidding such action, but if drivers were quick in the pick-up routine, the guards of the drop off/pick up process wouldn’t notice. Besides, there were certain benefits being picked up in a police patrol car.

As anticipated, twenty minutes passed by in the process of being a pedestrian, and Dan’s patrol car pulled up just before the roundabout. Dee opened the back passenger door and tossed in her case, then she leapt in after it.

‘Thanks Dan,’ she said as she secured her seatbelt.

Dan breezed past the paused throngs of cars and people eager to make a quick get-away. Their hurried movements reminded Dee of bank robbers leaping into accomplices’ cars before the authorities caught up with them. One car, Dee noticed it was that couple, still arguing, and their grown up returned-from-overseas children struggling to fit all their baggage in the boot of the car. An irate security staff member gestured for them to move along. Dee looked back to see if the mother and father were arguing with security, but a hulking Toyota Hilux blocked the scene.

‘How was the Tassie trip?’ Dan asked.

‘Brilliant!’ Dee replied. ‘There’s some beautiful places there. I reckon I’ll pull up stumps and go and live there when I retire.’

‘Did you find what you were looking for?’ Dan asked. ‘I gather from the application and funding, that it wasn’t a holiday.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Dee rubbed her hands together and grinned, ‘the time was well spent and fruitful.’

‘Fruitful?’ Dan glanced back at her.

‘You remember Lillie? Lillie von Erikson? Now Edwards?’

‘Yes?’

Dee chuckled. ‘She had a baby down there in Tasmania, back in 1981.’

‘Did she now?’

‘You remember she was one of the witnesses back then. You know when Milo Katz was run over?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well. Fast-forward nine months, and bingo! A little girl was born.’ Dee licked her lips. ‘A girl called Zoe Thomas.’

‘And,’ Dan eyed Dee through the rear-vision mirror, ‘how’s this related to the case?’

‘You see, it proves that she was there. With Francis Renard. In his kombi van.’

‘But you said she was a witness.’

‘She will be, and so will Mr. Renard.’

‘I don’t see how you have figured this out, Dee.’

‘Do I have to spell it out, Dan?’

‘Go on.’

‘If they were there, they must’ve seen something. They would’ve been aware of Sven’s movements.’

‘Not if they were busy in the kombi, they wouldn’t have,’ Dan snorted, then laughed. ‘Anyway, I interviewed Mr. Renard, remember?’

 ‘We’ll see,’ Dee sighed, ‘Besides, I think that the adoption was all underhand and off the radar. There’s no official documentation. And I suspect there was money involved in the deal.’

‘Really? How do you come to that conclusion?’

‘I managed to track down the adoptive father of Zoe, and he confirmed that Lillie gave the child to him and his wife. They were childless and his wife was desperate for a baby.’

‘And the money?’

‘I remember Lillie returning from her Tassie work holiday flush with the stuff,’ Dee flicked a lock of hair from her face, ‘I saw her around town with a new car, new trendy clothes, and I heard her and her brother shared a flat in a swanky part of town, Burnside, as I recall.’

*[Photo 3: Flush with money © L.M. Kling 2003]

‘Right.’ Dan’s brow furrowed. ‘Evidence?’

‘So, I got hold of some bank records from the day.’

‘Really, do they still exist after forty years?’

‘If you know where to find them and have the right contacts.’

‘Which, apparently, you do.’

‘September fifteenth, 1981, ten-thousand dollars was paid by cheque into her Commonwealth Bank account.’ Dee announced in triumph. Somehow, an online crime-fighting sleuth, probably on the spectrum, had come through for her. ‘From an ANZ bank account in Hobart.’

‘I see,’ Dan sniffed, ‘so, are you going to go after Lillie Edwards on a charge of baby trafficking, now?’

‘Ooh, that’s an idea—I’ll look into it.’

© Tessa Trudinger 2025

Feature Photo: Sunrise Flight © L.M. Kling 2011

***

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