relationships

Friday Postcards and a bit of Family History–Basel

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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

***

And now, for something different…from Europe…

Dreaming of an Aussie Outback Adventure?

Click the links below:

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

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

To download your Amazon Kindle copy of the story…

And escape in time and space to the Centre of Australia 1981…

Travelling on a Friday–Back to Hermannsburg (1)

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[In 2013, the T-Team, next generation embarked on their pilgrimage to Central Australia. Purpose: to scatter Dad’s ashes in his beloved Central Australia, in Ormiston Gorge.

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

This time, the T-Team go their separate ways…]

Monday Morning

After a fitful sleep and then early rise, I looked forward to coffee with mum and the boys. With the sun peeping over the horizon, shining in the watery blue winter sky and reflecting golden on the gum trees surrounding the campground, the frigid desert air slowly began to thaw.

[Photo 1: Sunrise in the Centre © C.D. Trudinger circa 1977]

First, though, after a warming shower and filling breakfast, the tent had to be packed up. Hubby needed my help with that. Then, he spent an eternity repacking the station wagon. While waiting, I jogged on the spot and puffed out steam of my breath into the below ten-degrees air.

[Photo 2: Packing up Tent, Mambray Creek, Flinders Ranges © L.M. Kling 2018]

As if a surgeon performing a delicate operation, he punctuated his packing with commands. ‘Bags!’ So, I passed over the bags which he grabbed and pushed into the boot of the car. Then, ‘Tent!’ I hauled over the packed tent to him. Then, ‘Esky!’ I lugged the cool box (esky) to him. Then, waving his hand while head stuck in the boot of the car, ‘Box!’

‘What box?’ I asked.

‘Kitchen box!’

‘Huh?’ I glanced at the piles of stuff still waiting a home in the Ford. Finding the green crate with breakfast cereals, bread and cans of beans, I passed that one to him.

‘No! No! No!’ he snapped and pointed at the red crate, same size but with cooking utensils. ‘That box!’

Apparently, the green crate must go under the back seat with a blanket covering it.

[Photo 3: Challenges of packing are not new. Relocating in the Centre by camel  © S.O. Gross circa 1940]

Finally, with Hubby’s version of luggage-tetris complete, we drove the short distance in the caravan park to mum’s cabin.

Again, we found Mum T glued to the phone. On the small pine table, she had spread out a brochure opened to camel farms. In between phone calls she muttered, ‘Mrs. T has asked me to find a camel farm for them to visit.’ She was not having much luck finding a camel farm or someone from the camel farms advertised, to answer her calls.

[Photo 4: In search of an open Camel Farm © L.M. Kling 2013]

While Mum T remained occupied with the phone, Hubby and I popped next door to visit our boys. The first words out of their Dad’s mouth when he entered was, ‘Have you packed?’

Son 1 and 2 duly showed Dad their packed luggage waiting by the door.

Satisfied that the lads were ready to depart Alice Springs and not miss the flight, we sat down to enjoy a coffee with them.

[Photo 5: Memories of my first flight over Alice Springs 1977 © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1977]

Mum joined us. ‘Oh, by the way,’ she said over her much-needed coffee to wake up, ‘the park manager came over. They were most apologetic about the mix up yesterday. Apparently, whoever took my booking assumed the people were T’s, because when they asked them, the lady didn’t hear clearly and just nodded and said “Yes”.’

‘You mean the guy behind the counter assumed the lady was you?’ I asked to clarify.

‘Apparently, the guy asked the lady, ‘Are you Mrs. T?’ and she said, ‘Yes.’’

We shook our heads.

‘Maybe the lady who took our cabin had a hearing problem,’ I said.

‘Oh, well, it all worked out in the end,’ Mum T concluded.

[Photo 6: Desert Park Sands © L.M. Kling 2021]

After visiting the Strehlow Centre and its Art Gallery again, we travelled to the airport to see our sons safely, and in time, board the plane back to Adelaide. Then a brief stop at Woolworths for Hubby to buy some shorts, before commencing our return to Hermannsburg.

[to be continued…]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2021; update 2025

Feature Photo: Mum’s Ghost Gum near Mt. Hermannsburg © courtesy M.E. Trudinger circa 1950

***

Virtual Travel Opportunity

For Less than the price of a cup of coffee,

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

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

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari (United States)

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

Time Travelling Friday–Future Message

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[So, if you could go back and talk with your 5-year-old self, what would you say? What would your 5-year-old self say to your future self? Here’s a story where I imagine just that.]

MESSAGE FROM MY FUTURE ME

“Grandma, can I excuse the table?” I asked.

Grandma chuckled. “You mean, be excused from the table, dear.”

I nodded and then pushed my chair from the old wooden table.

“Yes, you may, but don’t go too far,” Grandma said. “Go only to the end of the road and then you must turn back.”

“I will.”

*[Photo 1: Escapee from Grandma’s © C.D. Trudinger circa 1966]

I escaped out the back door and down the gravel driveway. The street spanned before me, begging adventure. Sunday lawns green, pungent with fresh Saturday clippings piled behind an assortment of fences.

“Go away, will you,” she said in her grimy blue dress. She leaned over the stone wall and pushed me.

I brushed off her greasy prints and walked on, leaving the willow tree and that girl snarling in the shade behind me. As I strolled into the sun, I ran my hand over cracked rendered walls, rattling cyclone fences and peering through the oleander bushes for signs of life in quiet houses.

“Don’t go over the road,” Grandma’s voice warned in my head.

*[Photo 2:  Memories of Belair National Park © L.M. Kling]

No, I won’t. I rubbed my bottom in memory of the Belair Sunday school picnic adventure when my brother lost me. Promise! Careful not to step on the lines in the pavement. Bad luck. I tiptoed and danced along the pavement in my pink ballerina shoes.

A shadow wriggled over the pavers. Stobie pole to my right, plastered its stunted midday image on the asphalt. I halted. Casting my focus up, I spied this big girl. I squealed and clapped my hands over my mouth. This lady-girl was dressed all in lace and brown velvet as if in Grandma’s clothes.

“Hello, you must be Lee-lee.”

“Why did you know my name?” I pointed at her; rude, I know. “Ha, ha! Why are you wearing funny clothes?”

She blushed and rubbed her stubby fingers over the velvet. “They’re trendy where I come from.” She smiled and straightened her long dress that swept past her ankles. “Actually, where I come from, I know a lot about you.”

“Why?”

“Because I have the same name as you.”

“So? I know more than you do. You’re dumb. So there, ner!” I planted my hands on my hips and poked out my tongue.

“That’s no way to talk about yourself.”

“Huh?” I pulled at my pigtail and chewed the ends of my hair.

“Elementary girl.” She flicked her long blonde strands and smirked. “I am the future you. In fact, I know more than you do because I know what’s going to happen to you.”

“Future me?” I scratched my cheek and screwed up my nose. “What does future mean?”

“I am your grown-up self.”

[Photo 3: Six-year-old self with missing tooth © C.D. Trudinger 1969]

“Oh!” I wiggled a loose tooth. “Does that mean your teeth all fell out? Did you get grown-up teeth or did you get them all pulled out and get false teeth like Grandma’s?” I zoomed up to Future Me’s face and ogled at her mouth. “Come on, show me your false teeth.”

She bared her perfect row of pearly whites and nudged me back. “They are real. Orthodontically corrected, but real.”

“Arthur—what?”

“I had braces on my teeth.”

“Why? Were they crippled?”

“No, they were crooked.”

“Ugh! Crooked teeth.” I turned from her and poked stones with the point of my shoe. “I don’t think I like being you. Grandma clothes, crooked teeth that need Arthur’s braces. I’ll never be like you. You’re just pretending. ‘Sides, how could I be you?”

I squinted at this tall slim blonde who transferred her weight from one leg to the other. I noticed the worn back-pack groaning full of books, straps straining to pull the load from her waist. Future Me stroked her chin between her thumb and forefinger. “Well, it’s hard to explain to someone as little as you. You’re in Prep, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m a big schoolgirl, now.” I thrust my chest forward and with hands each side of my tummy, swung my hips.

“Well, big schoolgirl, Lee-Lee, to put it simply, it’s called T.T.T—thought, time, transportation.”

“What then?” I watched my pink dress swish as I swayed.

“You just think and instead of thinking time as moving forward, you make it move backward for you.”

“Just like that?”

“Well, actually, it’s more complicated than that—a kind of scientific experiment that my big brother Warwick invented. He put electrodes on my head and well, something happens that I can’t fully explain.”

“Oh, did you have a brother, Warwick too? Does your Warwick snort when he laughs?” I cupped my hand over my mouth and tittered.

The lady-girl raised her lace sleeve to her mouth and giggled. “Yes, he does.”

“You must be me.” Repressing the urge to gnaw my fingernails before my future-self, I clasped my hands together and looked in her eyes. “So, me, what’s going to happen to me?”

She avoided my gaze. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.

“That’s not fair! Why can’t I?” I grabbed at her, but she slipped through my fingers and drifted from me. “Plee-ease!”

“I can’t!”

I watched her move further away and shimmer in the sunlight.

“But why not? Please! Just a little bit.” I chased her and swiped at her. “Just a tincy-wincy-little bit. I won’t tell! Promise!”

“Alright, if you insist.” She floated above the greying plaster fence. “But I must be leaving soon.”

[Photo 4: Trampoline fun © L.M.  Kling 1988]

She faded, blending in with the oleander and honeysuckle bushes. I strained to see her. I attempted to touch her, but my hand passed through her.

The wind whistled through the bushes. “Have a good time with Jilly.”

“You didn’t tell me! You lied, me!” I cried.

I hunched over and plodded back towards Grandma’s house. Shouts and squeals from a yard on my left, caught the corner of my eye. A girl my age bounced on an old double-spring bed.

“Hello, my name’s Lee, what’s yours?”

“Hello, my name’s Jilly. Do you want to play on the trampoline with me?”

© Lee-Anne Kling 2009; updated 2023; 2025

Feature Painting: Somerton Beach Dreaming © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2011

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11

***

Dreaming of being transported to another world?

Time for some weekend reading?

Take a break and journey to another world, another time to …

Diamonds in the Cave (New Release)

The Lost World of the Wends

OR

Transport Yourself into Central Australia of old with my travel memoirs with the intrepid T-Team …

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

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

100-words or more on Friday

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Water—Theft

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

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

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

100-word Challenge

Stolen…Almost

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

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

‘Sign there bans wine not water.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Want more memoir? Some travel?

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

Click on the links:

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or

If Sci-fi is more your thing

Check out my War Against Boris series…

The Hitch-hiker

Mission of the Unwilling

The Lost World of the Wends

Diamonds in the Cave (New Release)

Down the Rabbit-Hole–Family History Revisited

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

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

Family History Friday–Admire

Friday Crime–The Culvert (32)

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Mouth Full of Berries

Wednesday, May 18, 2022

Brighton

Francis Renard

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Did we? I-I don’t…’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Why?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

© Tessa Trudinger 2025

***

Sometimes characters spring from real life,

Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.

Sometimes real life is just real life.

Check out my travel memoirs,

And escape in time and space

To Central Australia.

Click on the links:

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or for a greater escape into another world…

Check out my Sci-fi/ dystopian novel,

And click on the link:

The Lost World of the Wends

Friday Crime–The Culvert (31)

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Communication…Or Lack Of

Friday, May 13, 2022

4.30 pm, Adelaide Police HQ

Dan

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

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

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

Dan opened the file and studied the results.

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

Dan nodded. ‘Interesting.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tuesday, May 17, 2022

4-5pm, Adelaide Airport

Dee

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dee shivered at the chilling flash back and recomposed herself.

She moved on and out from the concourse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘How was the Tassie trip?’ Dan asked.

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

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

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

‘Fruitful?’ Dan glanced back at her.

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

‘Yes?’

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

‘Did she now?’

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

‘Yes.’

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

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

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

‘But you said she was a witness.’

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

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

‘Do I have to spell it out, Dan?’

‘Go on.’

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

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

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

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

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

‘And the money?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Which, apparently, you do.’

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

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

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

© Tessa Trudinger 2025

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

***

Sometimes characters spring from real life,

Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.

Sometimes real life is just real life.

Check out my travel memoirs,

And escape in time and space

To Central Australia.

Click on the links:

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

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

/ lmkling / 2 Comments

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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