relationships

Friday Crime–The Culvert (30)

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In Search of Mr. Thomas

Friday May 6, 5pm
Strahan, West Coast Tasmania

Dee

By five in the afternoon, Dee was driving down the windy road from Queenstown to Strahan. She heeded Mavis’ warning to take care on this narrow, steep road. She counted the number of cans strewn on the side along with the native wildlife carnage—mostly pademelons and wombats.

Local traffic frightened her. They swung around the bend, on her side, almost colliding head on before swerving to their side of the road.

Dee drove slower than the locals to avoid becoming another statistic. A conga line of cars fumed behind her. Every so often, a frustrated driver risked their lives and sped past her around a blind corner. Dee expected to witness disaster awaiting her on the other side, but this time, they’d been lucky.

*[Photo 1: Road winding to Queenstown © L.M. Kling 2016]


Finally, as the sun set over a choppy Port Macquarie, Dee pulled in at the caravan park cabin she had booked that morning.

After a quick shower and change into a fresh pair of black slacks, white shirt, and black jacket, she headed for the hotel. There being a number of eating places that lined the main street, she chose the one that appeared most popular, a bar and bistro.

Before settling at a table to sit, Dee weaved her way through the Friday night crowds to the bar. She hoped the bar staff were not too busy to have a chat. She also hoped they had an inkling who Greg Thomas was and where she could find him.

Resting one elbow on the bar, while trying her best to look casual, Dee waited. The bar staff scurried from customer to filling up large glasses called “schooners” with beer and ignored her as if she were invisible.

‘I’d make a good private detective,’ Dee sighed and muttered. She wondered if word had got out around Strahan that she was in town, on the warpath, investigating. Perhaps Mr. Thomas had gone into hiding and the locals were all protecting their own and their secrets. Or was it just that she was at that age and invisible. Probably the latter, she thought.

As a more mature bar staffer, a balding man with grey sideburns whizzed past her, Detective Dee Berry straightened up and leaned over the counter.

‘Excuse me,’ she said.

‘Hold on,’ the man glanced back, ‘just a minute.’

Dee gritted her teeth, pulled out her ID card and held it up. ‘It’ll only take a minute of your time.’

The man looked like a rabbit, or in Tasmania’s road case, a pademelon, stunned by the headlights of an oncoming car, and hurried over to her. ‘How may I help you?’

‘I’m looking for Greg Thomas,’ she said, ‘do you know him?’

The man’s eyes widened. ‘Is he in trouble?’

‘Na, not really. I’m trying to chase up his daughter, actually. You know, the lawyer?’

‘Oh, is she in trouble?’

‘I can’t say, it’s confidential.’ Dee smiled. ‘Do you know where I can find him?’

The man pointed across the street at crowds of people milling around a brown and green structure topped with sail cloth. ‘See the Visitor’s Centre, there, he’s next to that in the timber yard.’

*[Photo 2 and feature: Sunset over Port Macquarie © L.M. Kling 2011]


‘Oh, right?’ Dee lifted her hand from the counter and prepared to leave. ‘Thank you. What time does he finish work?’

The man shrugged. ‘He’ll most probably still be there. He works late on his projects most nights.’

Dee waved and said again, ‘Thank you.’

She walked over the road. The visitor centre swarmed with the latest offload of tourists from the Gordon River cruise to an open-air theatre. The timber yard and shop appeared dark and empty.

*[Photo 3: Sunset View of Strahan © L.M. Kling 2011]


‘Are you looking for someone?’ a voice called out of the dark.

Dee looked in the direction. The glitter of red ash splashed onto the pavement a few metres away. She could just discern the outline of a man in the shadows.

‘Huh? Who are you? Are you Mr. Thomas?’ she asked keeping her distance. You can never be too careful, she reasoned.

‘Nah,’ the man sucked on his cigarette making the tip glow red. ‘Why, do you want with him?’

‘I’m looking for his daughter, Zoe. Wondering if he could help me find her,’ Dee said, mindful not to reveal her identity as a police officer. ‘I’m an old friend of her mother’s.’

‘I see.’

Dee could just make out the man’s long hair, and beard that covered his face.

‘I was just wondering if you knew when Mr. Thomas would be in the workshop.’

The man coughed and with a gravelly voice replied, ‘Try tomorrow morning. He’s gone home for the night.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Good luck,’ he responded.

She left the old man on the wharf to his smoking and headed back to her cabin for the night.

© 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

(Free from May 3 to 7)


Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

And…


If you are in Adelaide, check out Marion Art Group’s exhibition at Bayside Village, Glenelg. On until Saturday, May 10.
You can buy the paintings on the spot and take them home. Just in time for Mother’s day.
My paintings are there too.
Don’t miss out, have a look and enjoy the wonderful artwork.

Marion Art Group Exhibition (c) L.M. Kling 2025

Family History Friday–Grandpa Gross

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Tale of Two Grandpas

Grandpa 1—Sam Gross

Recently I shared how my dad relied on the Readers Digest “How to Fix” book to tackle DIY jobs. Having a double mortgage, and money being tight, Dad didn’t have much cash to splash on the “experts” in such fields as plumbing, electricity and general home maintenance.

The response met with a hint of dismissal from my older friends who prided themselves on their pedigree of farmer fathers. These, they boasted were real men, Aussie men, who fixed all things by pragmatic problem solving without the help of a book. The wisdom of their farming forebears imparted to them by osmosis, apparently.


*[Photo 1: One of those Some Mothers do ‘ave ‘em moments © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) circa 1978]


In contrast, my father was a lesser being, a city dweller who had to refer to a book, of all things. My dad was a much-loved teacher, gifted in music, art and sport. He coached a winning football team of Indigenous players from Hermannsburg, Northern Territory in his youth, led a choir of Indigenous singers, and later school student Anklung bands for the South Australian Festival of Music. No flies on my dad. But I must admit, when it came to DIY, his forays into such exploits would rival the character Frank Spencer in the British sit-com, “Some Mothers do ’ave ‘em”. Still, I’m proud of my dad and love him.
But then I realised that these superior beings who were my friend’s fathers, were from my grandparents’ era.

So, I cast my mind and research back to my two grandpas: Reverend Sam Gross (my mother’s father) and Dr. Ron Trudinger (my father’s father).

Now these friends held up their ties to the land as superior. Although both my grandfathers are highly educated with Reverend and doctor between them, I can claim a link to the land too, through my maternal grandfather, Sam. His family were farmers with I imagine generations of farmers before them from Horsham Victoria in the 1850’s and extending back to Prussia.


*[Photo 2: The Gross Family Farmhouse, near Horsham, Victoria © L.M. Kling 1996]


Sam was born in 1905 and grew up with all that practical knowhow bred into his being. I never met Sam, he died before I was born, but I remember my mum saying he was good at fixing things like cars. He could’ve been an engineer, but he became a Lutheran pastor. I reckon my brother inherited some of Sam’s traits—he’s a jack of all trades—the ideal DIY man.

As a child, Sam suffered rheumatic fever which affected his heart. Consequently, he got the education with the view of becoming a minister and wasn’t expected to continue with the farm like his brothers.
The doctors told Sam he wouldn’t live past the age of thirty. But being extremely fit and maintaining his health, Sam defied those expectations.

After ordination to become a minister, and then a few years posted to Berri, in the Riverland of South Australia, Sam with his wife, Elsa (my grandma) and three young daughters (one my mother), ventured to Hermannsburg, Northern Territory. There God had called them to be missionaries to the Arrernte people.


*[Photo 3: Leaving Berri © S.O. Gross 1939]


Now, Hermannsburg is remote, more so in 1939 when they moved there. The settlement became even more isolated once war broke out.

*[Photo 4: Pastor Sam Gross with fellow ministers in Hermannsburg © courtesy of M.E. Trudinger circa 1940]


Sam’s pragmatic skills, bred and imparted to him from generations who had lived and struggled on the land as poor subsistence farmers in Germany, then as pioneer farmers in the Victorian Western districts in Australia, came to the fore in the harsh isolated conditions in Central Australia.

Sam had to venture to even more remote places in the desert west of the MacDonnell Ranges—Haast Bluff for instance. One trip in 1942, the truck broke down. Despite putting his mechanic hat on and trying to fix the car, an essential part of the engine was kaput and the much-needed part not available. Sam’s problem-solving prowess kicked in, donkeys were found and the car towed by donkey-power back to “civilisation”—Hermannsburg.

*[Photo 5: Donkey-power © S.O. Gross 1942]


A year or so after their arrival in Hermannsburg, the supervising pastor, F.W. Albrecht was stuck in Adelaide as a result of the war. Hermannsburg came under suspicion, as it was a mission set up by German missionaries back in the 1880’s, and as such with ties to the Lutheran church, had a German name and tradition. The British Army being paranoid of anything that hinted of German, was suspicious of Hermannsburg. They feared German spies were hiding out there. So, they sent officers to check out Hermannsburg.

*[Photo 6: A visit by the Airforce © S.O. Gross circa 1942]


On one of these visits, without their chief, Pastor Albrecht, Sam and Elsa had to entertain these one-eyed wary characters. How did Sam survive their investigation? My mum says her father had the gift of the gab. My grandma had the gift of hospitality. In “A Straight-Out man” by F.W. Albrecht, I remember reading the Arrernte said that Sam would be alright, he’s so Aussie they won’t suspect him. Besides, the name Gross is found in England too. Also, Sam’s first language was English and when at school, he had trouble learning German. Although German was spoken at Hermannsburg and in the family, Mum can’t remember what they did when these British Intelligence Officers came, but thinks the children were kept out the way. Maybe someone took the kinder (children) on a picnic…


*[Photo 7: Mum and her sisters on a picnic © S.O. Gross circa 1942]


Sam and his family survived the officer’s interrogation. However, the pedal two-way radio was confiscated, and later Rex Batterbee was appointed to keep an eye on the mission. This Rex did and taught Albert Namatjira to paint.

There’s much more to Sam’s story. I think this post gives a glimpse into his generation and German farming ancestry, migrants making good, living in isolation, making do, thinking on one’s feet and problem-solving.

Did I mention Sam still found time to indulge (as the Mission Board put it—another saga) his passion for photography? He used these photos of Central Australia for deputations to garner support for the mission. Many of his photos are now stored in the Strehlow Centre in Alice Springs.

*[Photo 8: One of my favourites of Sam’s photos, Ghost Gum © S.O. Gross circa 1942]


And finally, Sam outlived his doctor’s expectations. He lived to the age of 57.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2025
Feature Photo: Sam and Elsa Gross © courtesy M.E. Trudinger circa 1960

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My History on Friday–School Daze

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Recent events on the world stage and closer to home have reminded me of this little gem I posted way back in 2016. Still relevant today—maybe even more so, as it was back then so many years ago when I was in high school. And it seems, while many of us have matured and have an open mind when it comes to opinions and how we view others, there are some who believe that if you tell a lie often enough, it must be true. The recipients who have no backbone who believe these lies are just as guilty. Need I go into detail with examples? Not here. But I may explore this issue in some of my future novels.

NOW YOU KNOW…


Year Ten at high school, and you could say I went to school each day with a big virtual sign on my back that read, “Kick Me”.

Don’t get me wrong, I had my close friends; friends who valued me for me and who saw through the prevailing attitudes of the crowd towards me. I assumed my lack of popularity was spawned from a rocky start in Year Seven—new kid when all friendship groups had been established in a ridiculously small school. And then there were those who had made it their mission in life to persecute me. I assumed they spread the rumours about me. Or maybe it was my buck teeth, and awkward way of relating to people…When you are told by your peers over and over again that you are ugly, unloved and no one wants you and you do regularly get picked last for the team, I guess you start to believe what people say.
What kept me together, were my real friends, the ones outside of school, and my friends at school. I also belonged to a fantastic youth group that met every Friday night. A close-knit, loving family helped as well.

Most of all my faith in Jesus got me through those difficult early teenage years.

Anyway, at fifteen, my teeth had been almost straightened by orthodontics, and I’d perfected the enemy-avoiding strategy of spending lunchtimes in the library. I loved learning and my best friend, and I spurred each other on in academic excellence. My goal, a scholarship. I had heard rumours that some kids thought I was not so intelligent, a fool, in other words.

[Photo 1: Free range chickens, Gorge Wildlife Park near Lobethal © L.M. Kling 2024]


At my grandmother’s place, after Sunday lunch, I helped Grandma with the dishes. As I scraped away the chicken bones, I discovered the wishbone.

‘Can I make a wish?’ I asked Grandma.

‘Well, why not?’ she replied. Although a godly woman, some superstitions from our Wendish (eastern European) past had filtered down through the generations. So, wishing on wishbones was no big spiritual deal.

Grandma and I hooked our little fingers around each prong of the wishbone. We pulled. The bone snapped in two and I won the larger portion. I closed my eyes and made my wish, a scholarship. Dad had promised that if I studied hard and won a scholarship, he’d buy me a ten-pin bowling ball. So, in truth, my aspirations for academic achievement were less than pure.

*[Photo 2: Dreams of a bowling ball © L.M. Kling 2016]

What was it about socks? I wondered as I dutifully began to pull up my socks. For our summer uniform which we had to wear in first term, we wore blue cotton frocks down to our knees and long white socks.

Woe betide any poor soul who did not pull their socks up to their knees. The length of our uniform dresses was another issue that kept certain teachers occupied. And don’t get me started on hair. I tell you, if all the students had worn their uniforms correctly, I think the teachers would’ve quit out of boredom.

So, with my socks pulled up, I waited in line to troop into the chapel for morning assembly. A tap on my back. One of my friends smiled at me. I remember her simple bob of straight blonde hair; no fancy flicks or curls like many fashion-conscious girls in the 1970’s. Farrah Fawcet flicks were all the rage and drove the teachers to distraction.

‘Good luck,’ my friend said.

‘Why?’ I asked.

Miss Uniform-Obsessed-Teacher glared at us. She had those bulging blue eyes, mean pointy mouth that forced us to slouch into submission, and for me to check my socks again.

One of my foes snaked past and muttered at me, ‘Dumb idiot.’

I shook my head and concentrated on not getting glared at by the teacher. Really, I thought, he’s at the bottom of the class and he’s calling me dumb? What is it with that guy? In his defense, he did come out with a gem once in English class when the students were rioting and so reducing the first-year-out teacher to tears. He said to me, ‘It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.’ So true for my home town.

*[Photo 3: Like sheep they were © C.D. Trudinger circa 1995]


Once inside the hallowed halls of the chapel, we went through the ritual of the school assembly. The principal delivered the talk. There’s a lecture I recall he made, don’t know if it was that particular one—how we were a bunch of jellyfish and we must get some backbone. When he said backbone I thought of the wishbone, and then that guy who said I was dumb and his cohorts. I thought of how people believe unquestioningly what others tell them, even if it’s not true. They go along with the prevailing attitude, even if it’s wrong and harmful to others. In some ways, like at school, I was a victim of these jellyfish, and in other ways, I was a jellyfish too. I had an attitude, an aversion against those who bullied me. Did I have backbone enough to get to know them as people rather than continuing to avoid them as enemies?
The principal began to hand out the awards. Ah, yes, that’s what my friend meant. Today was the day of the awards. I watched as various students marched up the front and collected their scholarships. That won’t be me, I thought.

‘And for Year Ten,’ the principal said, ‘the scholarship for high achievement…’

I looked up. What? Me?

I walked to the front, shook the principal’s hand, collected the award, then head down and with a tug of my pig tail, I walked back to my seat.

Afterwards, my friend patted me on the shoulder. ‘Congratulations! Well done! Just like you to win an award and then pull at your pig tails.’

I nodded. The whole deal of winning a scholarship seemed unreal. ‘I’ll be able to get my own bowling ball, now.’

That guy slid past me. ‘Ooh, what a surprise—we all thought you were dumb.’

‘Well, now you know I’m not,’ I replied.

*[Photo 4 and Feature: Jellyfish © iStockphoto]


Sometimes we carry our hurt from the persecution from others like a big heavy bag on our backs and the truth is it influences the way we see the world. I realised being a victim had become my narrative, and I didn’t want it to be so. As a jellyfish, I had no backbone to stand against this view of myself and how others viewed me. I feared speaking out and going against the crowd in the cause of truth, justice, mercy and compassion. I kept my opinions to myself. Then just recently, when again the baggage of victimhood crept up on me, I read the following passage from the book of Matthew in the Bible. The words encouraged and gave me the backbone to stand out and for the sake of Jesus Christ make a positive difference in the world.

“Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me (Jesus). Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.”—Matthew 5:11-12

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2016; 2023; 2025
Feature Picture: Huge School of Water Jelly © iStockphoto

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Friday Crime–The Culvert (27)

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Like a Dog with a Bone

Monday May 3, 2022
2pm
Church Hall at Seaside, Art studio session

Fifi

Feeling jangled from a stressful morning, Fifi unpacked her paints and laid them out on the table. She gave El a crooked smile. ‘So, what’s new with you?’

‘Hmm, nothing much.’ El eased into her plastic moulded seat and rested her box of paints on her knee.

Zoe’s staying with us for a while. She landed a job in Adelaide, you know. Reckons she’s on track for passing the bar and becoming a judge.’

‘Ooh, ladida!’ Fifi sniffed and then snorted. ‘What d’ya reckon ol’ Lillie’ll change her tune if she had an up-and-coming judge as a daughter.’

‘Didn’t know she had a tune.’

‘Oh, yes, she’s been dead against DNA and all that stuff since it’s become a thing.’

‘Pretty sure we know why that is, don’t we.’

‘Yeah,’ Fifi sighed and then started to paint. ‘Not like me; everyone back then when I had my Jacob, said I’d trapped Sven into marrying me. Some even went as far as to say that I wouldn’t ever get married otherwise.’

*[Photo 1: The Scarecrow Wedding © L.M. Kling 2017]

‘That’s not a nice thing to say.’

‘Yeah, I remember this one girl, Dee—Dee? I think. She said with my looks and red hair it’s a wonder anyone would marry me.’

El chuckled.

Fifi stopped painting and glared at El. ‘And, what’s that about? That laugh? Are you implying…?’

‘No!’ El locked eyes with Fifi. ‘Not at all. I think you mean, Dee Berry. I know her, she’s a police officer, actually, a detective now. As far as I know, she’s never been married, nor had any kids. I was laughing because she is the one who desperate and dateless. What’s more, pretty sure she’s got her heart set on my former partner in fighting crime, Dan.’

‘Not Detective Dan Hooper?’

‘Oh, yes, that Dan.’

‘Gawd, it’s a small world.’ Fifi placed her hand over her mouth and whispered, ‘I went to youth group with Dan. He was older, of course. All us girls swooned over him, but he went off and married some posh Swiss bird.’

‘Unfortunately, that didn’t end well.’ El lifted her paint set to the table. ‘Poor Dan just couldn’t compete with the obscene amount of money some of that set have. Last I heard his ex had taken a shine to Ivan T Rumf’s charms.’

‘Who?’

‘Just one of the richest and most powerful men in the world.’ El shrugged. ‘I mean, how can a Detective Inspector who is all about justice and not much money to show for it compete against such corruption? I ask you?’

‘Well rid of that one if she’s only interested in money.’

‘True.’

For a time, El and Fifi concentrated on their works. Fifi used a fine brush to define her bouquet of roses, while El made bold strokes blocking in a famous face for portraiture. Fifi raised her eyebrows at the choice of El’s subject. She didn’t make any comment about El’s muse, just mentally noting that El had nailed the fake tan, though.

*[Photo 2: Portrait of my muse, Leopold Lavert (original by Degas) © L.M. Kling 2024]

After this pause in conversation, Fifi said, ‘Anyway, I heard that you had an interesting conversation with my sister-in-law the other night.’

‘How?’

‘My brother, Jimmy,’ Fifi’s voice dropped, ‘the police have been in touch about the body found near Mt. Lofty. We met with them this morning. Big news. It’s our dad. Gawd! Would you believe it? After all these years.’

El took in a quick breath. ‘Oh, that’s good. Isn’t it?’

Fifi covered her mouth, then wiped a stray tear from her cheek, then nodded. ‘Guess so. Still has to be confirmed with DNA ‘n stuff.’’

‘I’m sorry,’ El placed her arm around Fifi, ‘I guess it’s still a shock. And so final.’

‘Dan,’ her friend cleared her voice and straightened her back, ‘I mean Detective Inspector Hooper gave us the results of the autopsy. Broken neck—that doesn’t just happen. Plus, he had been moved after. He’s been lying in that disused mine, under that bridge all those years.’ She trembled and then sighed, ‘Poor Dad.’

‘Oh, that’s just awful,’ El said. ‘Do they have any leads?’

Fifi shrugged and swayed her head. She knew El was just being kind and empathetic, but she also knew that if she shared any further information, she’d fall into a heap and be a blubbering mess.

*[Photo 3: Bones, but not human ones in this case. Brachina gorge © L.M. Kling 1999]

Once more steeling herself, Fifi said, ‘I hope they catch the low-life who did this. Maybe your virtual daughter, Zoe can give them a well-deserved kick up the pants and life in prison.’

‘I’m sure she’s more than capable if she ends up presiding over the case or somehow involved.’

‘Anyway, enough of that,’ Fifi forced a brave smile, ‘in answer to your question, Jimmy told me all about Lillie’s performance at the club the other night.’

‘Yeah, it was awkward,’ El replied. ‘I was glad to escape, thanks to Zoe coming to the rescue.’

‘Speaking of which—Jimmy mentioned how alike Lillie and Zoe are. More confirmation.’ Fifi had a vague recollection of the night of Milo’s demise at Sellicks Beach and Lillie coming out of Renard’s van in the morning. She had always wondered if there was more to her once best friend’s vanishing act to Tasmania than merely apple picking.

El cleared her throat and mumbled something Fifi didn’t quite catch, but it had something to do with Lillie’s response.

‘You know, do you think it’s wise to have Zoe living with you, so soon?’

‘No, why?’

‘Just…’ Fifi sighed. She couldn’t help herself giving advice, fixing things. ‘Seems to me she might be mooching.’

‘Mooching?’ El frowned at her. ‘Why?’

‘That’s what some people do. Just saying, be careful.’

‘Zoe’s not like that,’ El snapped. ‘I wish you wouldn’t be so judgemental. She’s a lovely lady, very intelligent and level-headed. Actually, I enjoy having her around.’

‘Sorry,’ Fifi said and looked down at her pink roses. ‘I’ve over-stepped the mark again, haven’t I?’

‘No need to be sorry, you have a lot going on.’ El leaned back and examined her work. The tanned face glared back at her from the canvas, his beady eyes narrowed. ‘Tell me about Jimmy, what’s he like as a brother?’

Fifi paused and prepared to give some pat answer that she hoped would satisfy her former detective friend’s curiosity.

Her mobile rang the tune of “Scotland the Brave”. She dove into her bag, fished the device out before it stopped and entered the merry-go-round of phone tag.

*[Photo 4: In the theme Celtic, Bagpipe player © L.M. Kling 1995]

‘Hello?’ Fifi answered.

‘Hi Fifi, Dee Berry here from police investigations. I have some follow up questions, just a couple. Have you some time?’

‘Yes,’ Fifi said while standing up and moving out to the foyer. It was quieter there.

‘Do you remember when Lillie, your friend at the time, left Adelaide for Tasmania?’

‘Ummm,’ Fifi grimaced trying to force the memory cells to perform, ‘we went on a hike where we found…’ no, not sure if I should reveal that, ‘Lillie got lost and we found her near some cute little cottage. That was in January…sometime…it was so long…’

‘When did she go to Tasmania?’

‘Er, after January, I think…February?’

‘You’re not sure.’

‘It’s 40 years ago.’ Fifi gnawed at another nail. That Zoe, she doesn’t look forty. Crumbs! Jacob is 40. Where did that time go? Her mind wandered around the possibility of matching the two up. Then she realised they were most likely first cousins and dismissed the possibility.

‘How long did she stay there?’

‘I don’t know, six months, maybe? A lot was going on in my life. Jeepers! I got married and was having her brother’s baby. Lillie was not happy about that. She wanted nothing to do with me. With her, it was all about her career. I wasn’t good enough for her. Cripes! She didn’t even come back for my wedding. Her brother’s wedding.’

She didn’t mean to spill all her sordid details of her former life to this detective, but it just all slid out, like it wanted to be out. As if the detective, silent on the other end was some sort of therapist.

‘Interesting, don’t you think there was a reason she didn’t come back for such an important occasion,’ Dee said. ‘Is there any reason that you can think of that caused her to miss the wedding?’

‘Not sure, but I always wondered if she had been pregnant…’ Fifi hadn’t intended to share her speculation, but that just sort of slipped out too. ‘On that night when Milo, you know…in the morning I saw her come out of Renard’s van.’

A chuckle on the other end. ‘Well, I’ll be.’

*[Photo 5 and feature: Memories of Tasmania, Huon River © L.M. Kling 2016]

‘I was really worried for her. Lillie was such an innocent back then,’ Fifi huffed. ‘But then after her working holiday in Tasmania, she came back without any baby in tow. So, I thought she must’ve been lucky…but…’
‘Thank you, Ms. Edwards, you’ve been most helpful,’ Dee said, her voice sounding chipper. ‘I’ll let you get back to your…’

‘Painting.’

The phone clicked off. Fifi sat for a moment and reflected. Probably best I didn’t mention El’s news about Zoe. Not my place to tell. Let the cops figure out that one themselves. Why is it relevant? Gives Francis Renard an alibi, I suppose.


© 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 (26)

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

The Trouble with Dee

Monday, May 3, 2022
12:30pm
Adelaide Police HQ

Dee

Dee’s eyes crinkled as she chuckled under her mask. She slipped it to her chin and pecked at her chicken salad with croutons from the local supermarket. She had been tempted to treat herself to donuts (gluten and dairy free) from the market but resisted the urge. Must watch her weight; don’t want to end up like her high school nemesis Lillie. Boy, had she let herself go! Can’t understand how that husband of hers, Jimmy still fawns after her. Like a puppy dog, he was. Pity that enquiry went nowhere.

‘Anyway, got the Renard,’ she purred, then sipped her cappuccino. ‘By the way, Dan, there’s this no-fuss café near the bus stop that does the best. And so friendly. You should treat yourself.’

*[Photo 1: Donuts © L.M. Kling 2025]


‘Might do.’ Dan sniffed. ‘So, what happened?’

‘As you know, I had that interview with Francis Renard. You know, the Milo accident investigation?’

Dan nodded and cleared his throat.

‘You, okay?’

‘Yeah, fine. Just an allergy.’

‘Yeah, well,’ Dee replaced her mask and continued, ‘I followed up on Renard’s alibi. Says he was at a party the night in question. Now, I’ve got a feeling, just a hunch, mind you, that he’s not telling the truth.’

‘You have evidence?’

‘Not yet, but I’m working on it.’ Dee flicked through some files on the case which she had opened on her computer screen. ‘Did I mention I knew Lillie back then at high school? And Milo. What a sad character he was. So…so…thick. Kept hanging around us, wanting to be friends. Remember that?’

Dan snorted. ‘Frankly, I have no recollection of Milo. Was he in our year?’

‘Nah, should’ve been but had failed…I think he was part of the “special class”,’ Dee said, ‘Strange though, I have this vague memory of him hanging around with Renard and von Erikson. Saw them down at Glenelg in that bowling place.’

‘Bowling?’

‘Yeah, bowling. You know, ten-pin bowling? Remember Bayside Bowls? Opposite Colley Reserve. I used to bowl competition you see, and one day, around the time that Mr. Edwards went missing, there they were. Bowling. Not competition, just down the end having a social game.’

‘Did they look like they were enjoying themselves?’

‘Well, yeah, not actually … I was concentrating on my game.’ Remembering she had been trying to catch Renard’s eye with no success. ‘But I did notice at one stage, there was an almighty thud, then Renard and the von E guy laughing out loud. And I remember at that moment, Milo bawling his eyes out and then stomping out of the centre.’

*[Photo 2: Perhaps, the bowling ball in question; perhaps not © L.M. Kling 2017]


The fact that this Milo character had walked off with the loaned shoes from the Centre, had disturbed Dee at the time, but it was her turn to bowl and her team “Top Spin” were depending on her for a much-awaited win against the opposing team, the “Cool Cats”.

They didn’t. Win, that is.

In her final stride, her focus slipped. To her right Renard hurled a ball at pin-breaking speed down the lane. He literally smashed the pins, leaving a 7—10 split, the tenth pin wobbling and broken. Her effort deviated at the last length to the far left and collected a mere three pins.

‘Interesting,’ Dan said rousing her out of her reverie, ‘follow that up. Perhaps Lillie has some comments about this Milo character that’ll be useful. Would you mind giving her a bell?’

‘No worries,’ Dee said with a smile. She was in a good mood today.

She didn’t mention the second part to her interview with Francis Renard. The somewhat informal part, when, after questioning Renard on his relationship with Lillie, he’d fumbled and bumbled his reply. His face all flushed he’d snapped, “It’s none of your business”, and it was long past by the time they, Dee and him, had hooked up.

Dee smiled again, and whispered, ‘Gotcha, Renard. I know you’re lying and I’m going to do whatever it takes to prove it. What’s more you weren’t at my party. I have that on record in my diary, so there. Gotchya!’

*[Painting photo 3: The kombi — where Renard was the night in question © L.M. Kling 2015]


She then lifted the receiver of the office land line, punched in Lillie Edwards’ mobile phone number and waited for her to answer. She mused how small Adelaide was, particularly in church circles.
The line clicked and a commanding female voice spoke, ‘Good morning, this is Lillie Edwards speaking, how can I help you?’

‘Good afternoon, Ms. Edwards,’ Dee naturally had the overwhelming urge to correct this woman, ‘it’s Detective Dee Berry from the Adelaide Police…’

‘I’m busy, I can’t talk to you at the moment,’ Lillie snapped.

‘Perhaps we could set up a time when we could …’

‘I don’t know, I’m juggling a million and one things—look, haven’t I already spoken to you guys? About that Milo case—I’ve told you everything I know.’

‘About that, I just have a few follow up questions,’ Dee said with a sigh.

‘Look, officer, I really don’t have the time,’ Lillie snipped. ‘I’ve said all I can on the matter, and I feel like I’m being harassed by you guys.’

‘Just half an hour? Could I send you an email with the questions?’

‘No. I know my rights and if you people call me again, I’m going to escalate my complaint that I filed. Got it?’

With a firm clack of the phone call ending, Lillie cut the conversation.

Dee studied her receiver, puzzled. ‘Well, that was a bit of an over-reaction.’

She wondered if Lillie remembered who she was from way back in high school and was taking revenge on her.

Dee shook her head and replaced the receiver in the cradle. ‘Nah, surely not.’

That time she met Lillie in church, while she recognised her, Dee was sure Lillie had a blank look as if she was just another person.

However, the cogs of Dee’s overactive brain began to click over. She remembered Fifi. That girl who trapped Lillie’s brother into marrying her. Pregnant, she was. Sven had to do the right thing, he did. Too young, and the inevitable happened. Separation after a couple of years. Thinking about Fifi, caused Dee to fill with pride. I never tricked a fella into marrying me. Not even Francis Renard, tempting though he was. Come to think of it, marriage and men in general passed her by. Here she was, near sixty and married to her career.

Dee gazed over at her partner in fighting crime, Dan. Not bad shape. Did she have a second chance with him? He’s single, right? Sort of. He did mention a woman called Jemima from time to time. Part indigenous so the rumours said.

She smiled and remembered him saying Jemima was up in Central Australia looking after her elderly mother.

*[Photo 4: Desert Park, Alice Springs © L.M. Kling 2021]

Maybe I have a chance, she thought.

Dan looked up from his desk and waved. ‘How did you go with Ms. Edwards?’

Dee primped her fading strawberry-blonde curls. ‘She got all defensive. I think she’s hiding something, the way she over-reacted.’

Her object of hope didn’t seem fazed. ‘That’s okay. There’s more than one way to skin a cat, so to speak. I think her former sister-in-law, Fifi Edwards might be a bit more amenable. They were best friends in their youth. Lived next door. I’ll send you the number and you can try her.’

‘Right,’ Dee nodded. ‘I’ll get in touch with Fifi, then.’

After all, back then, Dee had lived just around the corner from those two. She had hung out with Fifi when Lillie wasn’t around. They had become particularly close while Lillie was on a working-holiday in Tasmania.

As she picked up the phone handle from its cradle, finger poised to dial, Dan signalled to her. ‘Hold on, Dee, on second thoughts, I’ll make the contact with Fifi.’

‘Why?’

‘I have another matter I need to discuss with her.’

‘What? I can handle it.’

‘I just think it’s better if I maintain contact with her at this time,’ Dan replied while shuffling papers on his desk. ‘I mean, she might get spooked if too many different people see her.’

‘Why? What’s this other issue anyway.’ Dee was most indignant that Dan would take away her opportunity to catch up with her old friend.

‘Remember the body found up Mt. Lofty way?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, turns out that the boots are Percy Edwards’s. Which means most likely that the body belongs to Percy Edwards. Fifi Edwards’s father has been missing for over four decades.’

‘Fancy that!’ Dee drummed her desk. ‘Just as we start the Milo accident hit and run investigation; Mr. Percy Edwards turns up.’

‘Yeah, I know. Strange how the universe works,’ Dan said.

‘Hmm,’ Dee paused, ‘You don’t think they’re connected?’

‘Could be, Dee.’ Dan leaned back on his seat and twiddled his thumbs. ‘Stranger things have happened.’

Dee jumped up. ‘I’m off for a coffee, you want one?’

*[Photo 5 and feature: Time for Coffee © L.M. Kling 2024]


‘Yeah, why not?’ Dan patted his tummy. ‘And could you get me a couple of those delicious donuts from the market? There’s a good girl.’

Dee pouted under her mask. So, condescending! Oh, well, be kind to the man; I might catch him yet. ‘Yeah, will do, what flavours?’

‘Just cinnamon and sugar. Oh, and a skinny cappuccino while you’re at it.’

‘I’ll be back,’ Dee said and strode out the door. She had Fifi’s number on her mobile phone, so she intended to call her. While I’m out getting coffee and donuts, I’ll have conversation with my old friend Fifi, off the record, she mused.

© 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 23b

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

The Boy Next Door

Lillie

My first memory of the verboten was the kitchen floor. Every Saturday afternoon, the kitchen floor took on the status of holy floor. Floor that has been washed with the sacred waters of floor cleaner and left untrodden to dry.

‘Don’t walk over the floor!’ Mum would yell after she had cleansed the linoleum floor. I looked with longing at the floor red with the gold and silver flecks in it. Inevitably I committed the sin of trespass on the holy floor of the kitchen and tracked a trail of my tell-tale footprints.

‘I told you not to walk on the floor!’ Mum would growl and smack me on the bottom.
But I had a good reason to walk on the sacred wet linoleum. It’s because Mum would excommunicate me into the backyard of boredom, so that she could get the cleaning done. And it’s because after she had shrouded the floor with water and soap, I would have to pee. The only way to the toilet of relief, was through the kitchen over the sacred floor.

[Photo 1: One solution; toilets in the backyard repurposed © L.M. Kling 2020]

As I grew up, the kitchen was barricaded during floor-cleaning sessions. Out of desperation, curiosity and loneliness in the backyard on Saturday afternoons, I became acquainted with the family next door. More particularly, the verboten made a gradual shift from kitchen floor to the boy and girl next door. I mean, really, Mum with her sacred floor business, brought the grief upon herself. If she had washed the floor during the week and not made such an issue of it on Saturday afternoons, I may never ventured next door. Their loo was available because their Mum washed the floor during the week, if she washed the floor at all under all the rubble of clothing from a large and uncontrollable rabble of children.

Jimmy proved attractive to me because of my parent’s opposition. Fifi, his sister, Jimmy and I were childhood friends. According to my parents, especially Mum, they were not good enough. I was told not to play with them. So, play with Fifi and Jimmy I did, and their multitude of brothers and sisters. We would romp through the jungle of their backyard of unmown lawn. The weeds were as high as us children. The family were working class and faking their Christian faith, my father would say. He still accepted a position at Mr. Edwards’s factory, but…And later, once Dad was gone, she was only too happy to accept Percy Edwards’s help.

My mother had her eye on the well-to do family, the Hoopers, around the corner whose two sons were progressing towards careers into law and medicine.

Mum would say, “The kids next door will never amount to anything.”

When Jimmy took me for a dinky ride on his bike and we returned home after dark, I was grounded. I hated being grounded. By the end of the week, I vowed not to play with Jimmy again. He was a bad influence. However, Saturday and the sacred floor rolled around again, and so did Jimmy on his Dragstar bike.

[Photo 2: Riding at sunset in Darlington © L.M. Kling 1998]

‘Come on! No one’s goin’ to know! Just one ride!’ he said.

The sun shone, the sky blue and my parents were out. We were off, pedalling down the gravel driveway where we nearly collided with my returning parents in their FJ Holden.

I had a choice, I could suffer another week’s grounding or have the indignity of a smack of the ruler across my hand. I took the ruler option and learnt to be more devious in the future. There are many ways to cross a wet kitchen floor without being caught. There were means and ways of continuing my friendship with Jimmy and Fifi without catching the ire of my parents. But then after their father deserted them, the enormous family moved.

I wonder what ever happened to that man.

Perhaps life would have been different if he’d hung around. Not that they missed old Mr. Edwards. Life seemed to improve for Jimmy and his family after he’d gone.

And despite, or should I say, in spite of my mother’s protestations, I ended up marrying Jimmy Edwards. I guess in my mother’s estimation, Jimmy being a musician didn’t amount to much, but me, I’m successful. Principal of a prestigious school, how good is that.

Shame mum’s not around to see that. Although, she would definitely be turning in her grave if she knew I’m still married Jim.

Now, those Hooper boys from around the corner…one of them was Dan, I remember. I wonder what happened to him. Did he become the lawyer my mother always said he was going to grow up to be?

[Photo 3: Sparkling, anyone? © L.M. Kling 2023]

El

El paused; painting brush poised in above the canvas. ‘Oh, Dan? Dan Hooper?’

Lillie raised an eyebrow. ‘You know him?’

El cleared her throat. Better not say too much or she’ll start to suspect. Change the subject. ‘Actually, I knew his brother, Al.’

‘Oh, yes, Al, the younger one. Bit weedy and pimply as I remember. So, did he become a doctor?’

El nodded. ‘He did…a psychiatrist, I think. But it was a long time ago and I think he had some crisis in his life and had a career change.’

Lillie snorted. ‘A mid-life crisis?’

‘You could say that.’

‘So, what career did he change to?’

‘Um…’ El bit her lip and dabbed the nose of Lillie’s painted image. ‘Teaching, I think.’
‘Haven’t heard of any Al Hooper in my domain.’

El smudged Lillie’s painted mouth. Oops! ‘I think he didn’t stay that long in teaching before he went into working for the secret service, ASIO, or something like that…’ El mumbled.

‘I’ll have to look him up,’ Lillie said breezily.

‘Good luck,’ El muttered.

‘What did you say?’

‘Nothing, but, um, I don’t think he’s got a digital profile, being in the secret service or whatever it is.’
‘Oh, you really don’t know; do you dear?’

El shrugged and wiped her mistake with her thumb. ‘So, tell me more about this Old Mr. Edwards. What was he like?’

At that moment, Jimmy reappeared in the studio. He held a tray with three flutes of sparkling wine.

‘Sparkling, anyone?’ he said.

© Tessa Trudinger 2025
*Feature Photo: Backyard © L.M. Kling 2021

***

Sometimes characters spring from real life,
Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.
Sometimes real life is just real life.
Check out my travel memoirs,
And escape in time and space
To Central Australia.


Click on the links:


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


Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or for a greater escape into another world…
Check out my Sci-fi/ dystopian novel,


And click on the link:


The Lost World of the Wends

Second Friday Crime–Under the Bridge (11)

/ lmkling / Leave a comment

I Know Nothink

Thursday, March 3, 2022, 2pm

Brighton

Dan

Dan perched on the vintage two-seater 1960’s occasional armchair. He admired its upholstery, a stunning turquoise woven velvet. Francis Renard sat opposite in a matching single armchair.

‘You can’t get too comfortable in these chairs,’ Renard leaned back and crossed his long legs, ‘or get too heavy.’ Renard chuckled. ‘We once had a colleague of El’s here. Walt Wilberforce, chaplain from Yatala, actually. On the big side. Sat where you’re sitting. Chair had to go in for repairs after. There’s a good repairer down on the Broadway. Took ages to get it back.’ Renard laughed and fidgeted. ‘Guess these chairs keep us honest as far as weight and fitness goes.’

*[Photo 1: 1960’s Occasional Lounge Chairs © L.M. Kling 2017]

Dan stroked his chin. Hmmm, honest. Let’s see how honest Renard will be. He sighed wishing Eloise Delaney could be a part of the interview as she was so astute in reading people. However, he knew that El being there would ruin the interview. Being a close family member to Renard. Wife, actually.

‘So, Francis,’ Dan said, ‘can I call you Francis?’

Renard nodded. ‘What’s this about, Sir?’

‘We are looking into an incident that happened in November 1980. Saturday night November 29 to be precise. Do you remember that day?’

‘That’s over 40 years ago.’ Renard shrugged. ‘To tell you the truth, I can’t remember what I had for breakfast.’

‘You remembered Walt Wilberforce.’

‘He-he, lucky guess, oh and association with the chairs.’ Renard rubbed his ear and his face flushed a bright pink making his bald patch more prominent. ‘So long ago, I have no idea what I’m supposed to remember.’

‘Okay, let’s start with some basics, then,’ Dan leaned forward. ‘What make and model car were you driving at the time?’

‘Ah, that brings back memories.’ A wide smile spread across Francis Renard’s face. ‘A red and white 1967 Kombi.’

*[Painting 1: One red and white Kombi © L.M. Kling 2015]

‘Good memories?’

‘Yeah, had some good times in that van.’

‘I bet you did.’ Dan scribbled 1967 Kombi on his notepad, then pulled out his mobile phone. ‘Do you give your consent for me to record this interview?’

Renard gestured with palms open upwards. ‘Sure, I’ve got nothing to hide.’

‘Right, now, I believe you were friends with Sven von Erickson at the time.’

‘Uh-huh, where this going? I’d rather not be dropping my mate in this, whatever it is.’

‘Alright, I’ll leave Sven out of this for now.’ Dan shifted his weight on the spongy cushions of the occasional lounge chair. They certainly didn’t allow one to get too comfortable. ‘Okay, what were you doing, I mean for employment, in 1980?’

‘I was a panel beater come mechanic, back in the day. Gap year, I mean, ended up being several years. I was still growing up, you could say. After dropping out of engineering in 1979, I went back to university as a mature-aged student to study Physics. Never looked back. That’s how I met Sven, actually.’

‘What was the name of your boss at the time?’

‘My boss? Hmm, some German, I remember. A perfectionist. Hard, really hard on me. Nothing I did was good enough.’ Renard scratched his chin. ‘But his name? It’s so long ago, I can’t remember.’

Dan placed a laminated photo of a red 1976 Ford Falcon XB on the glass coffee table that divided them. ‘Does this jog any memories?’

*[Photo 2: My Ford Falcon XB, yellow, but © A.N. Kling 1986]

Renard jerked back and folded his arms. ‘Is that supposed to mean something?’

‘You tell me.’

‘Look mate, I worked on tonnes of cars. They came in, I fixed them up, they went out. Well, eventually, once the old boss…’ Renard sniggered, ‘can’t remember his real name, but we lads who worked at his shop, called him the Car-Nazi. Anyway, once Car-Nazi said it was good enough. Which, it never was, by the way. Oh, what a cruddy job. One of the reasons I went back to uni. And the pay was peanuts. You see, I wanted to have a gap year or two, to work, save up some dough and travel. You know, go overseas. See the world. But, never had enough, and the old Kombi was a money pit. Mon Dieu, talk about endless repairs.’

And, without Dan uttering another word or question, Francis Renard was off, back in the world of the 1980’s. For a start, the Detective Inspector was pleased that he’d successfully tapped into Renard’s memory files. That is, until he began wandering off track on his trek around Australia and sighting a fleet of UFOs on the Nullarbor Plain.

‘Did you see the news reports?’ Renard asked. ‘I was famous.’

Dan attempted to steer Renard back to November 29, 1980, only to be carjacked by a psychotic hitch hiker in 1984 when Renard and his friends took a road trip to the Flinders Ranges. He was glad to get rid of the van, then. The hitch hiker who stole it, had done him a favour.

*[Photo 3: Iconic Flinders Ranges © L.M. Kling 2023]

Dan again attempted to guide the conversation back to November 1980 asking what make and model cars his friends were driving. To this Renard said he couldn’t remember. So long ago.

The front door clicked and clacked. Footsteps on the floorboards.

Dan and Renard glanced at the lounge room entrance.

‘Hi there,’ Eloise strode through. She looked from Dan to Renard. ‘What’s all this about then?’

‘We have a visitor,’ Renard replied.

‘I can see that,’ Eloise said.

‘Just an informal chat,’ Dan added. ‘Francis has been telling me all about his adventures with UFOs and hitch hikers.’

Eloise looked away and muttered, ‘Can’t help himself.’

Renard looked at his wife and said, ‘Dan was just asking about Saturday night, November 29, 1980, my dear. Do you remember anything?’

‘I was too young, and still in Switzerland, I think,’ Eloise replied. ‘But thinking about that date, and the age of your daughter, I would say that it might be a significant date.’ She faced Dan and explained the recent discovery courtesy of a DNA test.

*[Photo 4: Iconic Switzerland with cow © L.M. Kling 2014]

‘How so?’ Renard asked.

Dan flushed, his face the colour of beetroot, and he chuckled. ‘I guess you got some value out of that old van of yours Francis.’ He glanced at his phone on the coffee table and realised the recording app was still activated.

Renard cleared his throat. ‘Oh, yeah, now, who was I with?’

‘Her DNA results will clear up that mystery,’ Dan said and then rose. He made the assumption that Renard would have been occupied with conceiving his daughter and thus not focussed on the fate of Milo Katz. No use continuing the interview now, he thought, and decided that if he needed more information from Renard, he’d make another time to see him on his own. He picked up his phone, with his notebook, tucked them into his pocket. ‘I better get going.’

Eloise walked him down the hallway. ‘How’s things?’ she asked.

‘Could be better,’ Dan said.

Over the next half hour, on the front porch, view of the gulf on a gentle autumn day, blue water and white sail boats bobbing, he proceeded to tell Eloise about the dramas in his life. His son wanting to move back to Europe to be with his ex. Mooch, actually. They’re in Lausanne, Switzerland. Whatever for, he has no idea. And his relationship with Jemima is under pressure. She’s all fired up about politics and a particular protest movement. Disruptions going on left, right and centre. And he must help police those from time to time and there’s Jemima on the other side. So awkward. What is he to do?

Plus, to make matters worse, he’s been partnered up with Dee Berry. Remember her? Such a difficult personality. And they have history going back to the ‘70’s. History he’d rather forget. Old flame, you see.

[Photo 5: Brighton Beach © M.E. Trudinger 2010]

In the pause while Dan reflects on his lot in life, Eloise asked, ‘Say, Dan, there’s this cold case I’d like to look into, if that’s at all possible. Would you be able to lay your hands on the Percy Edwards files? He went missing back in 1978. And could you possibly pass them in my direction?’

Dan locked eyes with Eloise. ‘Delaney, you know I can’t do that.’

‘But…Also, I think there’s more to the disappearance of Lillie and Sven’s father, Jan von Erikson. And I have this feeling in my gut that Mr. Edwards who disappeared a year later, has something to do with it.’

Dan puffed. ‘You and your gut, El, one day, I believe it will be the end of me.’

‘You will?’

‘I’ll have a poke around.’ Dan shook his head. ‘Can’t promise anything.’

As Dan climbed into his Government issue 2022 Toyota Corolla Hybrid, he remembered that his mobile phone recording app was still running. A colourful word escaped his mouth before he muttered that he must delete the last thirty-minutes of recording. When he gets home and works out how to do such things.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2024

*Feature Photo: Seagulls Brighton Beach © L.M. Kling 2010

***

Sometimes characters spring from real life,

Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.

Sometimes real life is just real life.

Check out my travel memoirs,

And escape in time and space

To Central Australia.

Click on the links:

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or for a greater escape into another world…

Check out my Sci-fi/ dystopian novel,

And click on the link:

The Lost World of the Wends

Family History Friday–Remembering My Dad

/ lmkling / 1 Comment

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

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

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

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

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

He Wanted Us to Know God’s Love

In Memory and celebration of my father’s life…

Remembering his birthday 96 years ago, Saturday January 13…

DAVID BY NAME CLEMENT BY NATURE

Ron and Lina Trudinger’s third child was born in Adelaide on January 13, 1928. His parents named him Clement David Trudinger. He was a much longed for child as he arrived eight years after his older sister, Agnes.

[Photo 1: Growing family with Clement David baby no. 3 © courtesy C.D. Trudinger collection circa 1928]

“Clement?” his aunts cried. “We don’t like the name Clement.”

So they called the babe by his second name, David, and David he has been ever since. Except, of course when he goes to hospital, then he’s Clement, officially.

Throughout his life, God watched over David who has shared many stories of how he showed His love towards him, protecting, and providing for him and his family. He shared how he felt he didn’t deserve God’s love; he wasn’t perfect, yet God loved him. It is this love that David would want all of you to know.

[Photo 2: David, the boy © courtesy C.D. Trudinger collection circa 1930]

He began to write down his life-story, and in the last few weeks began to tell all, especially his grandchildren, how God worked in his life and how his Heavenly Father protected him.

When he was two years old, his missionary parents took David and his younger brother Paul to Sudan. Not the kind of place to take small children. But God protected David and his brother from a hippopotamus, cobras, car accidents, and mad men. (He’s written in more detail about these incidents and I will share these in the future.)

[Photo 3: David and his brother on the Nile © courtesy C.D. Trudinger collection 1932]

God also blessed him with a loving and God-fearing family. Some may say, too God-fearing, for his parents continued their mission work in Sudan while David from the age of seven, and Paul from five, commenced their schooling in Adelaide. As a student, David only saw his parents every five years when they returned home on furlough. He shared how despite missing his parents, he enjoyed his childhood, with so many aunts doting on him, and the game afternoons they had. I think his love of games started there in the Northumberland Street parlour. He’d even created a few games in his latter years.

[Photo 4: With siblings in Adelaide © courtesy C.D. Trudinger collection 1940]

His other great love was sport, especially football. God blessed David with fitness, agility, and a few trophies along the way. In retirement, he played golf, and when his legs couldn’t keep up trekking the 18 holes, he took up table tennis instead. He was still playing table tennis up until a few months ago. Sport kept his body and mind young.

David also enjoyed hiking and exploring. During school holidays he’d visit his brother Ron, a teacher at Ernabella. While there, he made friends with the Pitjantjatjara children and go into the Musgrave Ranges on hiking expeditions. One hot day, David and a friend became lost in the ranges without water, or salt. They wandered for hours parched and at the point of dehydration, before coming across a waterhole, the most welcome sight David had ever seen. I’m sure God protected and guided them back home. I’m also sure that’s when David’s love of salt began.

[Photo 5: Brothers in Ernabella © courtesy C.D. Trudinger collection circa 1940]

David progressed through his schooling, and gifted in art, he trained to be an art and woodwork teacher. After a couple of years at Lameroo, he won a position at Hermannsburg Mission as headmaster.

He taught at Hermannsburg for five years. In that time, he became close to the Aranda people, especially the students he taught. They took him on expeditions into the MacDonnell Ranges, Palm Valley, and gorges and beauty spots along the Finke River. David also became close to Pastor Gross’ daughter, Marie.

[Photo 6: Teacher in Hermannsburg © S.O. Gross circa 1955]

On January 23, 1958, he married Marie in Hermannsburg.

However, his romance with Central Australia was cut short, when, for health reasons, he and Marie had to move down to Adelaide. On October 30, his first child, Richard was born.

David continued teaching, first at Ridley Grove Primary School, and then St. Leonards P.S. The little Trudinger family moved from schoolhouse to schoolhouse.

May 3, 1963, his daughter, Lee-Anne was born. By this time, Glenelg Primary School planned to convert their little rented home into a library. As his family grew and Marie grew more unsettled with the constant shifting, David faced the challenge to buy a house. But how could he on a teacher’s wage? He looked at his lovely stamp collection of rare Sudanese stamps. Could he trade them in to help pay for a deposit?

*[Photo 7: David and Marie’s first own home. Bought in 1963 © C.D. Trudinger 2005]

They looked at a few homes. A bungalow on Cross Road appealed to him, but not Marie. His father wasn’t impressed either. Marie didn’t like that pokey little home on the main road with no back yard at all and the property was right next to the rail line. Then a trust home at Gilbert Road Somerton Park came up for sale, and the deal was done. David regretted selling his stamp collection but reasoned that this was an investment for the children. And, many years down the track, it was, especially with the two lovely court yard homes, one of which David and Marie have lived in from 2006.

[Photo 8: New and improved courtyard home. Built in 2006 © L.M. King 2021]

God blessed David’s career. He taught at Port Adelaide Primary School from the late 1960’s until he retired in 1985 at the age of 57. In that time he studied to teach Indonesian, became Deputy Principal, and won a government research grant to go to Indonesia. He became interested in the Indonesian musical instrument, the Anklung. He brought a set home and proceeded to teach pupils how to play. He had bands of students playing in the Festival of Music until 2010. He continued to visit the school now LeFever Primary and train students to play the Anklung, right up till the beginning of this year. He also tutored indigenous students.

David lived life to the full and grasped every opportunity to explore the wild and untouched land God has created, especially Central Australia. With his long service leave, and then time in his early retirement, he made regular pilgrimages to the Centre. And God protected him. I like to think that now he is with the Lord, his guardian angel is enjoying a well-deserved rest.

[Photo 9: Dad having a well-deserved Sunday afternoon rest © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1983]

One example he gave of God’s protection was on a hiking trip in the Western Wilderness of Tasmania with a friend. On one narrow path climbing around a cliff-face, he felt his heavy pack over-balance and he began to fall. “This is it,” he thought. Then he felt the pressure of someone pushing him back against the rock and he was able to step two metres further to a wider path. He knew an angel of the Lord rescued him, preserving his life, not just for his sake, but for his friend’s sake, and also because his work on earth was not complete.

[Photo 10: Cradle Mountain, Tasmania © L.M. Kling 2009]

But on August 25, 2012, David’s work on earth was done. There are probably many things he has done that will be remembered as a blessing and encouragement to all who knew him. He was a regular member of Faith Lutheran Warradale church; he took an active role and was a vital member of the congregation for over 54 years. He was a Sunday School teacher, an elder, and a Bible Study leader.

We will miss his cheerful nature, how he grasped life, lived it to the full and shared God’s love with all he came across.

He may have been David by name, but he was Clement by nature.

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

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

Revised © 2016; 2021; 2024

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

***

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

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Thursday Thoughts–Open Crowd

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[With life returning to some semblance of normality, a post from the pre-pandemic past…]

The Kingdom of God is Like…

A dilemma many of us have faced, maybe it’s a wedding, or a party — we want to invite all our friends and family, but can we? Is it possible to have an open invitation without the situation getting out of hand?

I remember as a young teenager being upset because my older brother received invitations to parties and not me. I remember standing at the kitchen counter, invitation to my brother in hand and complaining, ‘It’s not fair. I’m friends with them too. Why wasn’t I invited?’

‘Stop complaining,’ my mum would say, ‘your time will come.’

Didn’t help that our youth group friends had a saying: ‘You can’t have a party without my brother.’

Hey, I’m the sociable extrovert here! My brother’s the shy awkward type who prefers staying in his room making telescopes and short-wave radios.

*[Photo 1: You Can’t have a party without Rick © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger circa 1985]

So, I lived with these multiple rejections as I believed them to be…

…Until one day, I collected the mail from the letterbox. What’s this? A letter for me? I tore it open and read:

‘Dear Lee-Anne,

                                    You’re invited to ***’s birthday party…’

Huh? I re-read the invitation. Must be a mistake. Where’s my brother’s name? Invitations always had my brother’s name attached, and occasionally my name included, especially where the youth group friends were concerned. Her invite made my teenage decade, for once, she invited me and not my brother.

But…what if there were parties or celebrations without restrictions on who’s in and who’s out? What if all who want to be invited could be invited? Are we inviting trouble if we make an event open to all?

I want to celebrate my late-Grandmother who demonstrated this openness and was successful. She looked outward at those in need of friendship and love. Her table was never too small and somehow, no matter the number of guests she had for Sunday lunch, she always made the food stretch. Something of the loaves and fishes plus Jesus’ effect. (Read in the Bible how Jesus feeds the 5000. Matthew 14:13 – 21)

*[Photo 2: Grandma’s table © L.M. Kling 2019]

So that’s all very well and good opening our homes and sharing dinner with others. But back to the party or community event idea. Is it possible to have a party without restrictions on who and how many come without fear of it getting out of control?

I believe it is possible—when we look beyond our limitations and look to God and others to enable us to achieve success; a piece of God’s Kingdom where all people are welcome, all people are valued and seen. And where those running such an event demonstrate the values of justice, mercy and compassion. With the right training, this type of event can provide a safe and caring environment.

Over the years I have participated in open-crowd events, often taking place in parks. There’s usually a variety of fun activities such as puzzles, stilts, giant snakes and ladders game, and a group game for all ages. People may join in if they want to, or just watch if they prefer. No one’s forced to join in. Even so, people from the event team connect with the on-lookers, getting to know them and by the end of the afternoon, they will be smiling and chatting with team members.

*[Photo 3: Mr. K Clown at a community Festival © L.M. Kling 2010]

One time, two of my friends whom I’d brought along joined, for the first time, in the group game of water-balloon volleyball. They had so much fun, their faces were glowing.

‘I’m so glad I joined in,’ one said. ‘If I’d sat and watched, I would’ve regretted it. It was so much fun.’

My other friend said, ‘We enjoyed the event so much and before we knew it, the time had come to pack up and go.’

*[Photo 4: Water-balloon volleyball © L.M. Kling 2010]

This welcoming experience, I think gives a glimpse of God’s Kingdom—it’s free and available to all who want to join in and engage with others in the community. Did I say it’s free? There is a cost—a change in our world view—a change from an inward-looking one where we are the centre of our universe, to an outward-looking one where we see others and value others and see that with others (and God) our perceived weaknesses become our strength.

*[Photo 5: Tug-of-War © L.M. Kling 2012]

We have a choice. We could stay safe in our “castle” reinforcing the walls to guard against fear and failure, and so leave others to stay isolated in their “castles”. Or we can look outwards, break out of our “castles”, reach out and connect with others making our communities better places to live.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2016; updated 2019; Updated 2022

Feature Photo: Keep the ball in the air — Willunga Almond Blossom Festival © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2010

***

Want more? More than before? More adventure? More Australia?

Check out my memoir of Central Australian adventure…

Available in Amazon and on Kindle.

Click on the link:

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or…

Escape into some space or alternate universe adventure,

Catch up on the exploits of Boris the over-grown alien cockroach, and Minna and her team’s attempt to subdue him.

Click on the links below…

The Lost World of the Wends

The Hitch-hiker

Mission of the Unwilling

***

If you’d like to polish your writing skills or find out more about our new project, a self-publishing collective, click on the link to Indie Scriptorium…

Tuesdays with Carol–Tulips

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Of Impressionists and Tulips

With Covid still hanging around Carol’s place and wearing out its welcome, I have drawn on a past Tuesday with Carol.

A few weeks ago, I revisited the tulip field muse. Carol and I like the Impressionists style. We had lots of fun playing with the blend of colours and keeping our paintings loose.

My past efforts painting these tulips at the Canberra Floriade, in watercolour and acrylic, have been less than impressive. Those paintings have ended up filed away in the drawer of no return or cut up and pieces used for cards.

But I’m happy with this piece. The difference, a bit of artistic license by putting a windmill in the picture and less tulips. It’s all to do with composition.

On a different note, but related, a couple of friends and I have been working on a community project—a publishing collective. We have called this endeavour, Indie Scriptorium. If you would like to find out more, check out our newly formed website and our first post by clicking here.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2022

Feature Painting: Tulip field, Canberra Floriade © L.M. Kling 2022

***

In the mid-nineteenth century, a village of Wends, on their way to Australia, mysteriously disappeared…

Who was responsible? How did they vanish?

Want to know more about the trials and tribulations of these missing people from Nineteenth Century Eastern Europe?

Click on the link below:

The Lost World of the Wends