relationships

Travelling Friday–Road Trip to Sydney (4)

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Road Trip to Sydney in the Charger (part 4)

Waiting for the Alternator

Mitch’s hopes turned to practicalities as the morning dragged on while we waited for another elusive item, the alternator. I figured the alternator must be hiding in the same place the roadhouse in Dubbo must be.

By the time my watch read 8am, us four who were not mechanics, once more headed down the main road to the town centre in search of a “deli” as we in South Australia call corner shops, or a supermarket of some description.

We found a supermarket come snack bar, and treated ourselves to a meat pie, chips and Famers Union iced coffee. Just the sort of food one has for breakfast after a gruelling sleepless night. Mitch, appreciative of my mechanic brother’s efforts, brought him back the same fare as we had eaten.

Rick was leaning against the side of his precious Charger, still waiting for the elusive alternator.

*[Photo 1: Morning in outback © L.M. Kling 2013]

A heated discussion ensued amongst the fellows. Mitch put forward that we could be using daylight to drive to Sydney.

Rick refuted that suggestion with, ‘Do you want to sleep in the car again?’

Jack began to raise his hand, but Mitch cut in. ‘No, you’re right, Rick.’

Rick went onto explain that the problem with faulty alternators is that they affect the battery. He described how in the short but slow drive to Dubbo, he drove the car in a lower gear to get the most out of the failing battery.

And so, we waited, sitting in what little shade the garage’s carpark afforded, waiting for the alternator to arrive.

Early afternoon, the sun’s heat beating down on us, Jack, Mitch, Cordelia and I again walked down to the main street for some lunch. Upon our return with stale ham sandwiches to share, Rick was hunched over under the Charger’s open bonnet.

*[Photo 2 and Feature: Backyard of experience © M.E. Trudinger circa 1989]

I put my hands together in a half-hearted clap. ‘Hooray! The cavalry has arrived!’

‘No,’ Mitch had to be correct, ‘it’s the alternator.’

‘I had an idea how to repair the existing one,’ Rick said.

‘Hooray! Rick has worked out how to fix the alternator,’ I laughed.

‘You have a strange sense of humour,’ Cordelia said. ‘No wonder you find it hard to make friends, Lee-Anne.’

‘Praise the Lord!’ I raised my hands. ‘My brother can fix…’

‘Don’t make it worse,’ Cordelia said.

Perhaps she’s right, I thought, then took my sandwich pack, split from the “social police” before drifting over to Rick, to watch him as he operated on the car. Strange thing was, Mitch made a speedy dash away from Cordelia and followed me.

‘Hey, Rick,’ Mitch asked while hovering over his shoulder, ‘how long till you’re finished?’

Rick grunted in reply and swore.

I stepped back, knowing all too well not to crowd my brother when he was concentrating. Obviously, Mitch was not as aware. He leaned over Rick, blocking the sunlight from the engine. Rick poked out his tongue as he tackled a stubborn bolt.

Mitch stuck by Rick’s elbow. ‘Is that all you have to do?’

Where’s the social police now? Oh, there she is, staring at her sandwich and grimacing. She looked like a chipmunk.

[Photo 3: For a koala its always time for food, (Melbourne Zoo) © L.M. Kling 1986]

I smiled observing Rick as he gritted his teeth and muttered expletives. Mitch seemed totally unaware that his attention wasn’t helping.

‘Bu#@%er!’ Rick cried.

A ping and a clunk, and the spanner dropped into the engine of no return.

‘What happened?’ Mitch asked all innocent.

Rick narrowed his eyes at his friend. ‘What do you think?’

‘Did you drop the spanner?’

‘Yes. And now I’m going to have fun getting it out.’

Mitch rubbed his hands together. ‘Can I help?’ Mitch loved to help.

A grin slowly formed on Rick’s face. ‘I think you can, Mitch.’

Mitch was dancing on the spot in anticipation. ‘How?’

‘See the engine?’

Mitch nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘I want you to find the spanner and pick it out for me.’ Rick wiped his sweaty brow. ‘This is hot and thirsty work and I need a drink and some lunch.’

‘Okay,’ Mitch said while studying the engine, ‘I can do that.’

In the shade of a scraggly bush by a low stone wall, I handed Rick a quarter of sandwich and bottle of Fanta. My brother and I sat on the wall and watched Mitch hunt for the spanner. Rick munched on his ham and relish sandwich, unperturbed by the dryness of bread and ham tasting too salty. He washed down some of the fizzy drink and then said, ‘Well, I better go and rescue Mitch.’

The sun travelled westwards, and shadows lengthened as the “quick” job took several hours to complete.

Just before the sun set, Rick rubbed his grease-covered hands on an old cloth and declared the vehicle ready for action. He hoped the battery would give us no trouble.

*[Photo 4: Sunset on parrots © L.M. Kling 2022]

Once again, we piled in the car and Rick turned the ignition.

A squeak.

A sputter.

Then a roar.

The Charger puttered and shook as the engine turned over and the beast began to move out of the garage carpark.

We entered the main street, passing the store which had provided our breakfast and lunch. Closed for the night. Jack gazed at the store and sighed.

As if reading his mind and everyone else’s, Rick said, ‘We’ll need to drive for an hour or so before we stop.’

Mitch put on a brave face. ‘We’ll find a roadhouse sometime later tonight to have tea.’

We watched Dubbo’s Shell service station come roadhouse flit past as we left the town.

Sitting in the front passenger seat next to my brother who was driving, I pulled out the RAA strip map and flicked through the pages. Locating the one with Dubbo, I scanned the last few pages and calculated the distance and time to reach our destination.

‘According to the strip map, it will take us about six hours to reach Sydney,’ I said.

‘So,’ Mitch from the back replied, ‘we shall make it in time for the conference.’

‘Where, exactly is the conference?’ Jack asked.

‘Randwick Racecourse, if I remember correctly,’ Mitch said.

‘Where’s that?’ I asked.

‘Beats me,’ Rick said.

‘Do we have a map of Sydney?’ Mitch said with an edge to his voice.

Rick shrugged and planted his foot on the accelerator. The Charger roared to the highway’s maximum speed of 110 km/ph.

*[Video: Long stretch of outback highway © L.M. Kling 2021]

‘I guess we’ll have to…’ Mitch began.

Cordelia who seemed to be quieter than her usual demur self (I guess she had no social mores to report on), clutched her stomach and whispered, ‘I don’t feel very well, I need to find a hospital.’

Slowing the car, Rick sighed and shook his head. ‘I guess we better go back to Dubbo.’

Tyres crunched on the gravel before he swung the car in an arc performing a seamless U-turn and headed back towards the twinkling lights of Dubbo.

 © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2023

***

Want more, but now, probably due to current world events (Again! Sigh!) too impossible to travel down under? Why not escape all the world drama, and take a virtual journey back in time and space, with the T-Team Adventures in Australia?

Click on the links below:

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

 Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

And escape in time and space to Central Australia 1981…

Or if you are looking for more escape, say into Science Fiction Fantasy, check out my War Against Boris series:

Click on the links below:

Diamonds in the Cave (New release)

The Lost World of the Wends (most popular)

“Telestrations” of History–Family History in Nördlingen Revisited

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Have you ever played the game, “Telestrations”? It’s all the rage at the moment. It’s like “Chinese whispers” but done with pictures. Long story short, so to speak, after a picture and its associated word goes through eight people, the results can be hilarious.

Let’s just say, I had a “Telestration” moment this morning. A friend showed me a mention of a Trudinger in a book, my uncle, who conducted an orchestra–yes, so far, so good–but who also was missionary in northern Australia. Now I was confused. I don’t remember my orchestra conducting uncle being a missionary in Central Australia. My dad and his older brother were. I reckon the writer had blended the facts of the three brothers together. However, I will check with my aunt.

So, in light of the way history can be twisted and changed over time, below a post from the past …

Family History Friday–Family Mythology

100-Word Challenge–When You Gotta Go

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Toilets, bathrooms, latrines, or “dunnies” as they’re called in Australia, have surfaced as topics of conversation from time to time. How they have changed over the centuries. How they vary from place to place, country to country. But one thing remains constant to being human. When you gotta go, you gotta go.

And since the school year has started again in Australia, what better way to “go”.             

When You Gotta Go

He stood up and wandered to the door.

‘Get back to your seat!’ I snapped.

‘Gotta go to the toilet, Miss.’

‘No, you don’t.’ I pointed at his desk. ‘Sit down!’

This version of Denis the Menace crossed his legs and grinned. ‘Yes, I do.’

‘You can wait.’

‘Please, Miss,’ his voice mocking, ‘I have to go.’

Sniggers rippled throughout the classroom.

I stood, pointing like a fool at his chair. Afternoon sun streamed through the dusty windows, ripening adolescent body odour.

He walked past me.

I growled, ‘Get back here!’

‘When you gotta go, you gotta go,’ he replied.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2019

Feature Photo: Memories recreated for my Mum when she lived in Hermannsburg. Waiting for the toilet. © L.M. Kling 2013

***

Here are some more “dunnies” upon which to contemplate:

[Dun Photo 1: Bordertown Dunny © L.M. Kling 2023]
Dun Photo 2: Ocean Beach Dunny (note the position of the washbasin) © L.M. Kling 2016]
[Dun Photo 3: Backyard Repurposed Dunnies © L.M. Kling 2018]

***

Longing for more travel adventures?

Dreaming of exploring Australia?

Read the T-Team’s Aussie adventures, click on the link below:

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Friday Travel with a tiny bit of Family History–The Black Forest and Beyond into France

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A few months ago, I became curious about the genealogical origins of my interest in art. Was the Trudinger line responsible? Or was it another branch of the family? I did find a few Trudinger relatives with artistic talent; some were architects, others were actual artists of note. But the surprising discovery was my third cousin, the late Pierre Trüdinger who was an artist and a Marquis (French partisan) during World War II. You can read his story from the Italian Online Newsletter, Il Tirreno, here.

In the following re-blog of our European adventures of 2014, enjoy our exploration of the much-fought-over territory between the Germans and French, the Alsace, and the battle we endured with our car’s Sat-Nav.

Travel on Friday–Schwarzwald (Black Forest) and Alsace…

[Photo 3: Resting on way up the Hoch Blauen, Black Forest © L.M. Kling 2014]

***

Virtual Travel Opportunity

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

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

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

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

Arty Friday–Cockling at Goolwa Revisited

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The heat is upon us here in Adelaide. Finally, summer, as I remember it, just in time for school and Australia Day which heralds the end of the summer holidays. This Australia Day will be renowned for being the hottest on record at 45 degrees Celsius.

What better way to keep cool than reminisce summers spent cooling down at the beach and hunting for cockle shells at Goolwa.

Story Behind the Art–Cockling at Goolwa

Feature Photo: Goolwa Beach after Sunset © L.M. Kling 2002

***

Longing for more travel adventures?

Dreaming of exploring Australia?

Read the T-Team’s Aussie adventures, click on the links below:

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

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

Travelling Friday–Road Trip to Sydney (3)

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Crammed in the Charger of No Sleep

We parked in the car park of a closed service station, which also served as a garage for car repairs. By this time, Cordelia’s request for a doctor had been forgotten. She remained silent and didn’t remind us. I wasn’t going to mention her need. She looked well enough to me when we extracted ourselves from the car and stretched our legs. She was upright and not running off to the nearest public toilet.

After a brief stamp of our legs and rubbing of our arms, Rick said, ‘We’ll need to get some sleep.’

‘How are we going to do that?’ asked Jack.

‘In the car, I guess,’ Rick replied.

Mitch herded us back into the car. ‘Come on, in we go.’

Again, we piled in. Again, Mitch crammed in the middle of us girls, while Rick and Jack reclined in semi-luxury in the front seats.

I observed that Cordelia had no complaints, and her need for a doctor remained a non-urgent issue. For now. She snuggled up to Mitch, who also made no drama of the arrangement. No sleep for me, though. I squashed myself up against the side, putting as much space between my cousin and me as humanly possible. All through the hours of darkness, I sat upright trying to sleep while Mitch twitched, and my brother snored.

[Photo 1: Full moon © L.M. Kling 2009]

In the grey light of pre-dawn, I spied Mitch pacing the gravelly clearing of the car park. How did he get out? The Charger is only a two-door car. On the other side of the back seat, Cordelia slept soundly. Rick snorted and shifted his weight in the driver’s seat while Jack lay stock still. Looked like a corpse. Then he moved.

In an effort not to disturb the three sleepers, I slowly, gingerly, silently, crawled over Rick. My brother snorted as I landed on his knees.

‘Sorry,’ I whispered. ‘Have to answer the call of nature.’

‘Why didn’t you say so,’ Rick said, smacking his lips and continuing to snore.

I pushed open the car door and crept out.

‘What are you doing?’ I asked my cousin.

‘Stretching my legs,’ he said.

‘Weren’t you comfortable?’

‘No,’ Mitch said, ‘sleeping upright and squashed up next to … next to,’ he jerked his head in the direction of the car, ‘I found it very—very … uncomfortable.’

I glanced at Cordelia sleeping like a kitten but decided not to comment on the arrangement. ‘Well, it wasn’t a Sunday School picnic for me, either. I didn’t sleep a wink.’

‘Oh, yes, you did,’ Mitch said. ‘You were snoring.’

‘No, I wasn’t, that was Rick. He always snores. Anyway, I was awake all night.’

But Mitch was adamant that I snored. Just like Rick.

‘What do we do for breakfast?’ I asked.

Mitch shrugged.

‘Perhaps there’s a roadhouse around here somewhere,’ I said. ‘I’m starving.’

Mitch, though, advised that we must wait until the others had risen before we venture into town to find a place to eat.

I gazed in the direction of the main street with the shabby buildings all monochrome, the sun’s rays yet to burst over the horizon. I hoped that there was a place to eat in this sleepy town.

‘Is this Dubbo?’ I asked.

Mitch again shrugged.

‘Looks awfully small for Dubbo.’ I remembered when our family had visited Dubbo on the way back from Canberra three years earlier. We had toured the zoo there at that time. Didn’t take much time to tour the zoo. Rather small, actually, and I went away disappointed. Still, my memory of Dubbo was that it was much bigger than this tiny collection of real estate.

‘I think so,’ Mitch replied. ‘We’re on the outskirts.’

‘Lucky, I found this garage,’ Rick said while strolling up to us.

Mitch smiled. ‘Well, that’s an answer to prayer. We won’t have to go looking for one.’

‘No, just a place to eat. I’m hungry,’ I said.

[Photo 2: Country town NSW © S.O. Gross circa 1960]

By the time the sun had peeped over the horizon, Jack and Cordelia had woken and piled out of the Charger.

While Rick commenced preparatory work on the Charger, the rest of us four ventured down the main street in search of a roadhouse. We figured that at this early hour of the day, nothing much else would be open. However, the roadhouse remained elusive, and we returned to the Charger at the garage hungry.

Upon our return, we noticed Rick and a man standing under the raised bonnet of the car. They were deep in discussion.

As we approached, the man waved at Rick and walked away towards the garage, now open.

[Photo 3 and Feature: On the bonnet of the Charger © courtesy R.M. Trudinger 1983]

‘What’s happening?’ I asked.

‘That’s the owner of the garage,’ Rick replied. ‘He saw our car here and came over to find out what we were doing parked here.’

‘Oh, yeah, and?’

‘He thinks he might have an alternator for us, so I’ll be able to fix the car, and then we can be on our way.’

‘That’s good,’ Mitch said. ‘How long will that take?’

‘Oh, not long, just half an hour once I get the part.’

‘So, we can swing by the roadhouse on the other side of the town on our way out once the car is fixed, then,’ Mitch said, all hopeful.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2023; updated 2026

***

Want more? Dreaming of travelling down under? Why not take a virtual journey with the T-Team Adventures in Australia?

Click here on:

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

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

And escape in time and space to Central Australia …

Christmas Memories Friday

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The Big (Gross) Family Christmas Bash

For this season, I thought I’d take some time out from cleaning and preparing for the big family gathering with my hubby’s family and reminisce about my Christmas Day fifty years ago.

I will write as written, spelling mistakes, grammar, and rather uninspiring prose, and all. My excuse, according to my diary, I wrote just before bedtime, and my mother would be coming in, hassling me to get to sleep. So, no time for perfect editing. Besides, I was notoriously a bad speller back then. So glad to have spell check on the computer these days.

From my diary entry, Christmas Thursday, 25 December 1975 (Spooky, this year Christmas fell on a Thursday):

Today Kiah and Alinta and Heidi, Peter and the other Jeshkes came to Adelaide. After going to church, I went to see Kiah and Alinta and Heidi. For dinner I ate at Grandma’s. After playing with Peter, Michael and Rich and that, I went home to get changed.

On the way home a car with a bunch of boys in it went past and one of them I think, whistled at me (or some phrase I can’t decipher). He noticed me.

Went to the Rozler’s House to celebrate Christmas.

Received Aquirilic paints, Das, Pink Annual, hankys, films, L necklace, Record Tuned On, Book.

Unpacking

This day was a significant day in the lives and times of the Gross family. All the descendants of my grandma and grandpa (Sam and Elsa Gross) gathered in Adelaide at our church’s Warradale rental homes to celebrate Christmas.

As a girl of 12, most important to me were catching up with my cousins. Lunch at Grandma’s was a weekly Sunday tradition. And it appears I joined in after the Christmas service to have lunch at Grandma’s with the cousins. Grandma, the queen of hospitality, accommodated us all; the table in the small trust home kitchen-dining room would be crammed full of people and we learnt to keep our “wings” tucked in whilst eating. Grandma could never quite master the skill and flapped her elbows about as she ate, knocking me as I attempted to guide my fork to my mouth.

Then, if there were too many guests, the children were relegated to the “kinder tisch” (kid’s table) out in the back garden if the weather was fine, or in the passageway, if not. This day, I recall being in the backyard with my younger cousins, Kiah and Alinta D, and Heidi J.

Christmas dinner, as mentioned, was at what was the recently vacated Roesler’s home. Our church, who owned the property, had kindly loaned us the house in which to spread. And spread the Gross family did.

We girls enjoyed running about, doing acrobatics and cartwheels on the front lawn while the adults loaded up their plates from the potluck buffet. Then, after our feed, the tradition, French Cricket, which is a variation of cricket, where our own legs are the “stumps,” and there are no wickets or runs to score.

Finally, the evening progressed to photos of each family culminating in a big (Gross) family photo with me looking rather awkward, or should I say, inelegant. Comments like “you can see right up Rundle Street” haunted me for decades to come.

Then, once the sun had set and Christmas carolling done, came the opening of the Christmas presents. One by one, we unwrapped our pile of gifts and dutifully thanked each giver. Each person, from youngest to oldest, had to wait their turn. The gift unwrapping went on for hours.

Anyway, that’s all in the past now, just as Christmas is. Hope you all had a good one.

With Christmas Cheers,

Lee-Anne

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2025

Feature Photo: The Gross Family 1975, courtesy of L.M. Kling, photo taken by John W. Gross

***

Virtual Travel Opportunity

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

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

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari

Travelling Friday–Road Trip to Sydney (2)

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Road Trip Adventure in the Charger (2)

No Headlights

The highway, so straight, never curving to the right nor the left, was hypnotic. Again, in the late afternoon, the burning sun on the back of my neck, now sinking in the West, and the rushing of air from the open window, lulled me into a state of semi-sleep.

By increments, as sunset turned to dusk, the air cooled. I trusted Rick to keep us safe on the highway to Sydney. I noted Cordelia resting her head on Mitch’s shoulder, and then I sank into a deep, satisfying sleep.

[Photo 1: Sunset near Sale, Victoria © L.M. Kling 1989]

‘Oh, no!’ Rick said.

‘What?’ Mitch cried.

‘We have no headlights.’

‘What do you mean, no headlights?’ I asked.

The car slowed to a stop by the side of the road, again. Groggy from sleep and the hypnotic effect of the endless highway, we piled out of the Charger and milled around the non-functioning headlights.

Mitch peered at the offending lights. ‘Are you able to fix them, Rick?’

Rick pulled up the hood and, in the dim light, examined the engine. He poked around in the dark nether regions of the Charger’s insides.

Mitch hovered over Rick’s back while he prodded and poked at the parts in the dimness. ‘Do you need a torch?’

‘Do you have one, Mitch?’

Mitch shrugged. ‘I don’t…didn’t think…would you have one in the glove box?’

‘Might have, but the battery’s gone flat,’ all mumbled to the engine.

Mitch had already left to torch-hunt in the Charger’s glove box. At this time, I watched Jack busy himself sorting through luggage at the rear of the vehicle.

Cordelia sat all hunched over on her duffel bag. ‘I still don’t feel well,’ she said.

‘Are you carsick?’ I asked.

‘No, it’s worse than that,’ she answered. ‘I think I need to see a doctor.’

I gazed around the silent, darkened landscape. ‘Maybe at the next town, we can try to find one.’

Jack called, ‘Hey, I’ve found another torch.’

The feeble light of Rick’s torch wandered over the car engine. 

‘It’s the alternator, it’s cactus. Needs replacing,’ Rick said. ‘We’ll need to park here for the night, and in the morning, I’ll fix it at the next town.’

Cordelia, clutching her stomach, walked up to the lads. ‘I need to see a doctor; I’m not feeling at all well.’

Mitch glanced at the girl, his eyes wide and brow furrowed. ‘Perhaps we’d better push on and find a doctor—hospital—something.’

‘How can we?’ Jack said. ‘We have no headlights. It’d be dangerous.’

‘I’m not driving without headlights,’ Rick said.

‘How far to the nearest town?’ Mitch raised his voice. ‘The girl needs help.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘How far is it to Dubbo?’

Mitch grabbed the RAA strip map, Jack handed him the torch, and with the stronger light, Mitch flipped the pages and then studied the relevant page.

Cordelia sat down on her bag and was silent.

[Photo 2: Sunset at Brachina © L.M. Kling 1999]

‘Says here,’ Mitch began, and then continued, ‘we are twenty miles from Dubbo.’

‘I’m still not sure…’ Jack said.

‘Oh, come on,’ Mitch huffed, ‘only twenty miles. If we use the torches for our light, we can get there safely.’

‘What, waving the torches out the side of the windows?’ Rick said, ‘Are you mad?’

‘If we go slowly, we can make it,’ Mitch said. ‘Come on, give it a try. For Cordelia’s sake, we have to try.’

[Photo 3: Rick will save the day…eventually © courtesy R.M. Trudinger 1983]

At Mitch’s insistence to save this damsel in distress, we piled back in the car and crawled down the highway, torches flashing back and forth from the rear windows.

After a few minutes, Rick shook his head, his curls flopping about his damp forehead. ‘It’s not working.’

‘What about,’ Mitch sighed, ‘what about, if I sit in the front and you and I shine the torches from the front.’

‘If you think it’ll make a difference,’ Rick muttered.

Mitch changed places with Rick, who was driving, and Rick moved into the front passenger seat where Jack had been sitting. Jack then bumped Cordelia into the middle and sat behind Mitch.

The car crawled a few metres with Rick and Mitch waving torches from their front positions.

I looked behind me at the expanse of the dark landscape, and the sky was filled with the Milky Way.

‘I hope the cops don’t catch us,’ I murmured.

‘What cops?’ Jack said.

The Charger slowed and then stopped.

‘It’s not working,’ Rick said.

‘But we’ve hardly moved,’ Mitch said.

‘I think it’ll be better if we don’t use the torches and I drive by the starlight.’ Rick sniffed. ‘I think my eyes will adjust. And we’ll take it slowly.’

‘I can do that,’ Mitch said.

‘No, I’ll drive.’ Rick pushed open his door and marched over to the driver’s side. ‘It’s my car. I know how to handle it.’

Mitch breathed in and out with an emphasised sigh. ‘If you insist.’

Rick forged ahead on the highway to Dubbo at a leisurely twenty miles an hour. I know it was twenty miles (not kilometres) an hour as it took us an hour to reach the outskirts of Dubbo. Mitch couldn’t resist the urge to hang his arm out with Jack’s torch, offering slim beams of light to guide Rick as he drove. Fortunately, we met no police on patrol.

[to be continued…]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2023

Feature Photo: The Tough and Rugged Front of one of Rick’s re-creations, a Chrysler Valiant Charger after “roughing it” in the Flinders Ranges. Friend Dancing at Port Germein © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) circa 1984

***

Summer in Australia is approaching, and so is the season for holidays and intrepid road trips …

Or for reading adventure …

Want more? Dreaming of travelling down under? Why not take a virtual journey with the T-Team Adventures in Australia?

Click here on:

 Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

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

And escape in time and space to Central Australia 1981…

Family History Friday–Kintsugi Kin

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[Heading up to Christmas, reminds me we all have them: the proverbial “black sheep” in our families. Or it might be the skeletons we want remain hidden.

As it was, in the past week, I didn’t intend to, but it happened. I made another discovery which I can’t wait to tell my mum. I tell my mum everything.

It all began when I did some research on backyard burning and the iconic Besser block incinerator from the 1960s. A fellow writer in our writers’ group was adamant that burning was banned during the summer months back then. However, I remember things differently, and so does Hubby. Anyway, as I was researching, I came across a map of Adelaide CBD during the 1920s. Don’t I just love incidental detective work! After a little more “digging,” I think I’ve found my great-uncle’s clothing shop location. Amazing!

Then, as I delved into the relatives from that branch, My Heritage offered some fascinating information which kept me burrowing down another rabbit hole. I will not bore you with the details, but I will be telling my mum.

So, on another note, here’s a refined re-blog from not so long ago.]

In the Steps of Sherlock Holmes

Some time ago, Hubby and I received our DNA results. Dear Hubby received his a few days before me.

So, over the last year, I have been familiarising myself with the process and slowly building our family trees. Early on, I discovered a truth, which could be said to be a “skeleton” in one of our ancestral lines. I added the details to see if anything further came up. My Heritage calls this a “smart match”. Nothing did, but I left it there.

[Photo 1: Sherlock Holmes Hubby, Reichenbach Falls, Switzerland © L.M. Kling 2014]

For certain family members, this truth appeared absurd and too difficult to comprehend. Surely, that ancestor wouldn’t. Didn’t. No one told us that. You have it all wrong, Lee-Anne.

Hence, Lee-Anne (me), being a good person, only wanting the best for the family, deleted the suspect members from that branch of the family.

Then, curiosity set in. Who was that ancestor’s mother? Father? My husband suggested we go down the line to the descendants and put in a particular name.

This I did.

You wouldn’t believe it, but the same results, only this time verified by the official birth and marriage records. My original hunch had been correct. Moreover, in the spirit of Sherlock Holmes, I managed to cross-match the added, yet odd, family members with DNA, and behold, a match.

Now, the reason I’m being so vague about the whole ancestral situation, which I might add, is responsible for our existence, is because out of respect for some people, the details of such conceptions are to remain private/personal; too personal to be published.

Isn’t it interesting that for people who want to protect their reputation, the unacceptable behaviour of other members of their family, ancestors, or close relatives must remain hidden, buried, and plainly, not discussed. Such individuals may even be ostracised from the family.

Yet, such flawed individuals can still be in other circles and be a valued and much-loved member of the community.

My dad’s cousin, Dr. Malcolm Trudinger, for instance. The story goes that he had a problem with alcohol. Legend has it that he couldn’t do surgery without a nip or two before the operation.

Malcolm’s alcohol addiction was too much for his immediate family, who, it would seem, distanced themselves from him. Maybe it was the other way around, and he felt not good enough for them. Whatever…

According to articles about Malcolm on Trove, he was regularly in trouble with the law. Infractions that in the 21st century, we’d consider a nuisance, or minor, but in the 1940’s and 50’s were important. For example, his car making too much noise at night in town. Or even one time, merely driving his car late at night. Another time, he was charged with causing a scene at a function.

Despite these misdemeanours, as I see them (glad my brother and I didn’t live in those times—in his youth, my brother loved doing “donuts” and “burnouts” in his car like in Top Gear at night with his mates), the folk on the West Coast of South Australia loved Dr. Malcolm Trudinger. He was their hero. He once helped rescue people from a shipwreck off the coast during a storm. He cared and was always there for the sick and injured.

I remember my mother telling me the story of how a person, upon meeting my father, and learning his name was Trudinger, sang high praises for his cousin Malcolm. The sad thing was that although he was still alive when Mum and Dad were first married, Mum never got to meet Malcolm.

[Photo 1: Dr. Malcolm Trudinger © photo courtesy of L.M. Kling circa 1930]

Dr. Malcolm Trudinger was such a vital part of the West Coast community that they established a rose garden in his honour after he passed away in the early 1960s. We have heard that rose cultivation was his passion, and his roses were prize-winning. My niece discovered the garden when she and her partner were on a road trip passing through Elliston. She couldn’t have been more chuffed having found a Trudinger with a rose garden to his name. It showed Malcolm was a loved member of the community despite his demons.

This is what, I believe, grace is all about—valuing and loving people as they are. We are all flawed. Rather than hide the imperfections, celebrate the person, their life, and the goodness they brought to the community. It’s our pride and wanting to look good to others that makes us cover up our sins or those of our kin. But also, we may be protecting their reputation too.

The reality is, we are all fallen, and we all struggle. No one is perfect. We are all cracked pots. Yet, like in the Japanese art of Kintsugi (the repairing of broken pots), there is beauty that shines out through the cracks.

[Photo 3 and feature: Kintsugi pot © courtesy of Freepik]

And so, it is with our imperfect ancestors. When you think about it, it’s the ones whose stories are different and colourful that we find most interesting.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2024; updated 2025

Feature Photo: Hubby as Sherlock Holmes, Reichenbach Falls, Switzerland © L.M. Kling 2014

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Want more, but different?

Check out my Central Australian adventures.

Click on the links:

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Friday Postcards and a bit of Family History–Basel

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

Postcards: Basel, Switzerland

[This postcard of the Basel Minster (German: Basler Münster) was delivered to its recipient in 1899. Theodora Bellan, the recipient was the house maid of my Great-grandmother (Sophie Basedow nee Hiller). Imagine! Those were the days when ancestors had house maids. My grandfather (Sam Gross) who was my Great-grandma’s son-in-law, collected postcards and so, ended up with this one. I wonder if he considered, back then, 80 to 90 years ago, that, one of his descendants (me) with the K-Team would visit the birthplace of my husband’s mother? Would he have envisaged the changes to this city and the challenges the K-Team faced visiting this city of Switzerland?

I might add here, that as far as my family history goes, I have several and varied connections with Basel. A branch of my Trudinger relatives lived and worked in Basel; they owned a successful ribbon factory at the turn of the twentieth century. All went flat (pardon the pun, but my dad loved puns) with the stock market crash in 1929 and the subsequent depression. Still, I believe some relatives of mine may still live in Basel, even today. And on my mother’s side, my two-times Great Grandfather (Charles George Hiller) and my Great grandfather (Emil Basedow) studied for the ministry in Basel. No wonder, when I visited Basel, especially the Altstadt, I felt a connection to the place and it seemed so familiar to me.]

K-Team Adventures in Basel — August 2014

Not so early, for once, on this Saturday morning, P1, Granny K, Hubby and I headed for Basel. We regretted not rising early. Near Zurich, cars on the autobahn came to a virtual standstill and continued that way till Basel.

[Photo 1: First impressions of Basel; Münster Fahre © L.M. Kling 1998]

Having taken twice as long to get to Basel and then taking time to squeeze into a very narrow car park in the middle of the city, once released from the confines of the car, Granny went in search of toilet facilities. She found a toilet close by only to discover they took her Swiss Franc and failed to deliver relief as she couldn’t open the door. We hunted down the street in search of a toilet. Migros would surely facilitate the desperate. No, only if you patronise the establishment do you get the code to get into the room of relief. The Rathaus? No, joy there—closed for business. Ah, MacDonald’s! Off Granny and I ran. By this time, I was becoming a tad desperate for a wee break. I had a plan. Buy McChips and a McWrap and get the Mac-code and we’re in business. Had to line up, though. The men waited outside. We waited. They waited. Finally! Service and the sacred code of the Holy Mac-Grail, the toilet.

[Photo 2: The Rathaus closed for a meeting © L.M. Kling 2014]

When we eventually emerged, much relieved, Hubby said, ‘You took your time. We’ve been waiting 25 minutes.’

‘It’s not like Basel’s flush with them,’ I replied.

‘I guess that’s why I haven’t seen many people walking around with bottles of water,’ Hubby muttered.

[Photo 3: The crowds through the Rathaus Gate © L.M. Kling 2014]

We fought our way through the Saturday shoppers and holiday crowd over the bridge and to the Kleine Alstadt to find a bench to sit and eat our lunch. Ironically, free benches were the Holy Grail there, but toilets, now we didn’t need one, were in abundance, including open air urinals! Granny was horrified. What has her Basel come to?

We did find ratty old seats near a playground and youth nearby with a stereo booming out Spanish hip hop! Oh, well, it was a seat and I enjoyed watching the people and the happy ambience of the sunny Saturday afternoon.

Photo 4: Altstadt (old town) © L.M. Kling 2014]

But P1 slouched in his seat and pouted.

‘What’s wrong?’ Granny asked.

‘We haven’t seen anything,’ P1 mumbled. He meant missing seeing the Matterhorn, thanks to the “Matterhorn Rebellion”. But that’s another story you can read …

However soon enough we did see some sights. We saw the outside of the Rathaus with its mural artworks—the inside still closed for a meeting! Approaching the cathedral known as the Basel Minster, I exclaimed, ‘Ah, I’ve been wanting to see inside this cathedral with the tapestry roof for ages. Last time when we were here in 1998, we didn’t have time to look inside.’

[Photo 5: Basel Minster © L.M. Kling 1998]

‘It was Sunday, then and the Cathedral was closed for a service,’ Hubby said.

‘Oh.’

We entered the Basel Minster and marvelled at the simple beauty of the sanctuary. A service was starting in half an hour, so we had to be silent and not take photos.

[Photo 6: Inside the Minster’s sanctuary © L.M. Kling 2014]

After a while, Hubby found me and asked, ‘Have you seen P1?’

‘No.’

Granny came up to us. ‘Have you seen P1?’

‘No, he must’ve climbed the tower,’ I said.

Hubby texted P1 and he replied he’d been asked to leave as a service was about to take place. It just hasn’t been P1’s day.

[Photo 7: The Cloisters—Basel Minster © L.M. Kling 2014]

After meeting P1 in the square, we walked through the cloisters next door to the Basel Minster and then marvelled at the vista of the Rhine, the city and the mountains in the distance. Hubby pointed out the Blauen Hoch, the mountain we’d climbed while in Badenweiler.

[Photo 8: Rhine vista © L.M. Kling 2014]
[Photo 9: Blauen Hoch in distance © L.M. Kling 2014]

On our way back to the car, we walked through the Altstadt to the Kunst (Art) Museum. Too late by this time to explore but Hubby and I hoped we could return next weekend to see the museum. Never happened…Next time??? 2025, and still waiting …

[Photo 10: Hubby and the Rodin sculpture in courtyard of Kunst Museum, Basel © L.M. Kling 2014]

And finally, Granny asked Hubby to drive past the church where she was baptised. Unfortunately, it was only a drive-by, more road works and nowhere to park. At least the church bells started ringing as we crawled past to the delight of Granny.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2014; updated 2020; 2024; 2025

Feature photo: Postcard of Basel Minster Front (above) and Back (below) © 1899

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