Second Friday Crime–Under the Bridge (7)

Discoveries Awaiting

Sunday February 6, 11am

Magill Bakery,

Lillie

The Kitchener bun, its mouth between the sweet bread filled with cream, begged Lillie to take it. Eat it.

[Photo 1: A Kitchener bun courtesy of Pintrest]

Lillie ruminated over the Sunday after the week of false starts, the threat of staff strikes and extended sullen preparations for a messy beginning to the school term. The week ahead loomed. As if the official rollover of High School beginnings for Year 7’s that pulled it in line with the other states, was not challenging enough, now the virus had reared its spikey head again. A staggered start. Sevens and Eights and the Twelves, back at school face to face, but the middle years on zoom, yet again.

‘How’s it all going to work, Jimmy?’ Lillie asked the man with long greying hair tied back in a ponytail.

Her husband, Jimmy popped a handful of gluten-free lentil chips in his mouth and crunched. ‘You’re the expert, you tell me.’

Lillie pointed at the Magill Bakery display window. ‘I’m having one of those, the Kitchener bun. I deserve it. What’ll you have? The usual?’

Jimmy shrugged and munched on some more chips. ‘Yup.’

Once they had entered the bakery, Lillie pulled out her credit card from her glossy black bag and ordered a salad sandwich, gluten free, of course, and iced coffee for Jimmy. For herself she requested a pie plus Kitchener bun and long black coffee with milk on the side. The she waved her card over the machine offered and listened for the affirming ping of transaction success.

Lillie smiled and repeated, ‘I deserve a little treat.’

The couple sat at a table near the automatic sliding door under the cool breeze of the air conditioning vent. They settled, first course on white plates arrived and they removed their masks.

Lillie noticed Jimmy’s lips stretch in an expression of disapproval and she said, yet again, ‘I’m treating myself. I deserve it.’

‘You say that every Sunday after church when we come here,’ Jimmy remarked.

Lillie pouted. ‘Well, after the week I’ve had.’

‘It’s always such a week you’ve had.’

‘The trials and tribulations of being a secondary school principal, dear.’

Jimmy glanced at her not so healthy choices and frowned. ‘No rest for the wicked.’

Lillie leaned back in her chair, her wide girth prominent. ‘And what do you mean by that comment?’

‘Er, nothing my love, just banter, a saying, so to speak.’

‘I hope so,’ Lillie tucked into her pie with sauce, ‘because it’s not easy running a large and prestigious college at these times.’

‘No, dear,’ Jimmy stood up and strolled over to the counter where he picked up the latest Sunday paper. ‘Crossword, dear?’

Lillie sniffed. ‘If it’s not half-done.’

‘I could go to the newsagents…’

‘Don’t bother, got my Words with Friends.’

After shaking his head, Jimmy sat down and spread out the paper on his side of the table.

Lillie finished her pie and then took a bite of bun. With mouth full and hand outstretched, said, ‘Crossword, dear?’

*[Photo 2: Kookaburra in Magill © L.M. Kling 2016]

Several minutes of silence ensued as husband scanned the latest news, and Lillie puzzled over the crossword. Wife shifted in her seat; just couldn’t get comfortable. Words for the clues eluded her. Was she growing demented?

Lillie studied the black and white squares of the puzzle. ‘Another word for fox. Really? Who compiles these crosswords?’

‘There’s over 20000 cases and two more people died,’ Jimmy said.

‘It’s like the critter is stalking me,’ Lillie muttered while hovering her pencil over the crossword. Everywhere she looked these days, her past shadowed her. Memories from her youth attached themselves to every thread of her thoughts. A burden tempting her to confess deeds done over 40 years ago. She must resist. Too much to lose.

Jimmy looked up. ‘You say something?’

Lillie swayed her head and pinned back a bleached strand from her face.

‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine.’

Jimmy reached over and held her hand. ‘You know, I was thinking.’

‘That sounds dangerous.’

‘Yes, well, it’s a big zero birthday for you this year.’

‘Don’t remind me.’

‘Anyway, I was wondering what we, I mean the family could get you for your special day.’

Lillie sighed. ‘If you think I want an exercise bike or gym membership…’

‘I know we talked about an overseas holiday or even a trip to Tasmania, but um under the circumstances…’

‘I agree, a caravan and a trip to Robe?’ Lillie chuckled.

Jimmy grinned. ‘Caravan, hadn’t thought about that.’

‘They’re everywhere, love. Like there’s a secret caravan breeding programme going on.’

*[Photo 3: Caravan cutie, Mambray Creek, Flinders Ranges © C.D. Trudinger circa1959]

Jimmy snorted and laughed.

‘Only problem is. We’d need the four-wheel drive to pull it, and they’re not cheap, especially now.’

‘And not exactly something we can afford right now. What with bailing out my brother again and forking out more money to save our daughter, Tiffy from that scam she got tangled up in, we don’t have much left in the kitty.’

‘And all the gigs for our band have dried up over the last two years,’ Jimmy added.

‘Yes, that too.’ Lillie sighed. ‘So, my big birthday will have to be a rather simple affair this year.’

‘What I was thinking,’ Jimmy squeezed her hand, ‘what about a DNA testing kit. I’ve been doing some family history research and I reckon it would be interesting finding out where we come from. I mean, remember I got one of those things for Christmas from our nephew, Jacob. We could do the test together. Think of all the discoveries we could make.’

Lillie narrowed her eyes. ‘Nup, not happening.’

‘Don’t you want to know? I mean, your dad disappeared too. Left you, and somewhere, out there you might have a whole new second family.’

‘Like your dad?’ Lillie wagged a finger at her husband. ‘I see where this is going. You want to do your DNA, and then trot along to the police station and wave it in front of their faces saying, “Do you have any John Does matching this profile?’’ She scooped up cream from her plate and licked her finger. ‘Nup, not interested. It’s in the past. Water under the bridge. If those bones we found all those years ago were anything to do with your dad and your family, the police would have gotten back to us. Besides, from what I remember of your dad and what your sister has said about him, it was best that he left. Like my dad, he was a bad egg.’

Jimmy bit his lip. ‘He was still my dad. He had his faults. But, um what I want is closure.’

He then rubbed his nose and looked away.

*[Photo 4: Birthday Cake © L.M. Kling 2023]

Lillie shoved her empty Kitchener bun plate to the side of the table. ‘DNA? Not happening. You do realise that it’s all a rip off. I’ve read half the time they make it up.’ The sugary yeast bun and cream was beginning to give her indigestion. She burped. ‘End of discussion.’

Jimmy folded the newspaper. ‘Caravan? Holiday to Robe?’

Lillie glared at her husband.

‘Camping trip to the Flinders Ranges?’

‘I have work to do.’ Lillie stood up. ‘Let’s go.’

*[Photo 5 and Feature: View near Flava Café, Christies Beach © L.M. Kling 2023]

Sunday, February 6, 2pm

Café at Christies Beach

Eloise

Eloise and Fifi shared a generous serve of battered Port Lincoln flathead, chips and salad. Fifi kept an eye on the Bay Marie hoping no one would snaffle up the last chocolate mousse. Eloise settled on the citrus tart—if she had room. It seemed the more they went to this place, the larger the serves became.

Fifi smiled. ‘A continuation of our family saga, and away from prying ears, so to speak…’

‘What?’

‘You know how I don’t seem to fit in my family.’

‘No but go on.’ El leaned forward.

‘Anyway, I decided to settle the matter. You know how you were going on about getting your DNA done? Well, I did it.’

‘You ordered a test then?’

‘Yeah, I got it for my son, Jacob to give me at Christmas. I gave one to Jimmy, too.’

‘How did that go down?’

‘Not too good. Jimmy my brother was okay with it, but you should’ve seen Lillie. She went white, and then argued that we were condemning the family and any crimes my descendant might commit in the future would be discovered through my DNA. “Done it in America with the Golden Gate killer,” she said. It ruined the whole afternoon with her going on and on about it.’

‘I wonder what crimes Lillie’s committed that she’s so mental about the whole DNA thing?’ El said and laughed.

‘Hmm, I wonder what she’s hiding,’ Fifi said and chortled. ‘Well, I’m going to snaffle that…’

[Photo 6: Cappuccino still available and delicious © L.M. Kling 2023]

A small whiney voice interrupted Fifi’s thought of mousse-poaching. ‘Hi, there Eloise and Fiona. I couldn’t help over-hearing…’

El and Fifi snapped their attention to the owner of that whiney voice. Shaz with chocolate on her lips, grinned at them. The last mousse in her possession. ‘I just wanted to say, I done my DNA and it’s amazing. They traced me back to Queen Elizabeth the first of England.’

‘How’s that possible?’ Fifi asked. She knew her history.

‘Well, they did.’

‘Not a direct descendant,’ El remarked. She knew how family history worked. She’d been working on her ancestral trees for five years now.

‘Huh? What’s a direct descendant?’

El sighed. ‘Sorry, dear, but we must get going. See you at art?’

As El and Fifi left the establishment and made their way to the car, Fifi whispered, ‘I swear that girl is stalking you.’

‘I have wondered, and wouldn’t be surprised,’ El said. ‘I’ve got a creepy feeling about her. By the way, have you got the results back yet?’

‘Not yet, I waited a bit before doing the deed, Christmas and New Year ‘n all that. And I reckon Lillie’s stopping Jimmy from taking the test. But mine should be ready soon. Maybe there’s some cousins…’

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

Feature Photo: View near Flava Café, Christies Beach © L.M. Kling 2023

***

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

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

Virtually Revisited

[Over ten years ago, we visited the Black Forest, Germany and the following day the Alsace where we walked through the remains of the battlefield between the Germans and the French.]

The Battle of the Tom Tom in the Black Forest

Friday August 8, 2014, we braved the German highways and byways (our Tom Tom has a tendency to lead us astray down byways) and made our way via the scenic/economic route (thanks to Tom Tom) to Badenweiler on the edge of the Black Forest. My relatives, invited us to stay with them in beautiful Badenweiler. When we called them at lunchtime, our estimated time of arrival was 3.00pm. But, after Tom Tom had finished executing her agenda, we arrived at 4.30pm. I think Tom Tom was enjoying the quaint narrow roads and geranium garnished buildings, but we weren’t as we stressed driving down narrow lanes narrowly missing oncoming traffic. What joy to arrive—in one piece—and enjoyed good southern German hospitality and the kaffe und kuchen on the balcony overlooking their garden, then a balmy summer evening walk in the town.

[Photo 1: View of Badenweiler © A.N. Kling 2014]

Next morning, Anthony and I went bather shopping in the town. My cousin explained that Badenweiler was known for its warm summers and mild winters, so we must swim in the thermal pools while we were in Badenweiler. But, how could we bathe in the thermal pools if we didn’t have bathers? Some Germans do in the Roman baths but not us modest Aussies.

I entered the hairdressers who had a rack of bathing costumes displayed in the front of the shop. I asked the manageress if she spoke English. No, she didn’t. But somehow, I managed to understand enough German to select, try on and buy a pair of bathers. I couldn’t fault the German quality, style and service.

125 Euros less in our bank account later, Anthony then entered the store next door for men’s bathers. The man who owned the shop could speak English. ‘Did you forget yours? You know I make a good trade. At least 20% of the French who come here forget their bathers and I guess Australians do too.’

‘Yes, I did,’ Anthony replied. He then selected a pair—mini lycra pants. At least they weren’t budgie smugglers—Anthony avoided those ones.

[Photo 2: The Black Forest © L.M. Kling 2014]

After lunch we climbed a local mountain Hoch Blauen which is just a little higher than our (Adelaide’s) local rise, Mount Lofty, well 1165m really. Cousins told their son we’d be back by 6pm. We trudged up the gentle slope. I hadn’t climbed any mountains in years and like the tortoise ambled behind the others. Every so often they stopped for me to catch up.

‘Are you alright?’ they asked.

‘Yes, I’m fine.’

‘We can stop and go back any time.’

‘No, I’m fine.’

We reached a hut with a table and bench seats. While I drank water, the others ate croissants.

[Photo 3: Resting on way up © L.M. Kling 2014]

I gazed at the hillside covered with pine trees. Surely the top isn’t far. We set off again.

‘Look, Lee-Anne, some level ground,’ Anthony said.

But not for long and worse, a sign indicated another 4km to the summit.

[Photo 4: Basel visible from the summit © A.N. Kling 2014]

After a saddle, the slope grew steeper. But I soldiered on with the occasional stop to take snapshots of the forest, and the distant mountains. After plodding for what seemed an eternity, we reached the summit. I scrambled to a seat to sit and recover. Anthony still had energy to climb a tower. Basel was visible from there.

‘Oh, you must go to the guest house,’ my cousin said.

‘Nup, I’m not moving,’ I said.

But later, tempted by the panoramic view and a man floating in the sky with a parachute, I joined Anthony in a final trek to the guest house.

[Photo 5 and feature: Vista with paraglider © L.M. Kling 2014]

The return hike took half the time and effort. We arrived back at the house at 8pm.

Sunday, August 10, Anthony and I relaxed our weary muscles in the thermal pool. I sun baked and napped on the deck chairs provided.

Remembering a Battle 100 years ago

Monday, August 11, our hosts took us over the border to France. Their Sat Nav like the Tom Tom, lead us on a scenic and highland tour. They stopped to ask French farmer who directed us to drive further up the mountain. Our driver reversed his Rover, and asked another farmer raking leaves off the road. Yes, this was the right road.

[Photo 6: The farmhouse restaurant in Alsace © L.M. Kling 2014]

My cousin drove the vehicle around the tight bends, and narrow alpine road. Great scenery, mountains like waves, rising and falling in the distance. Finally, civilisation—a cheese house. Again, directions were sought. Yes, just up and around the summit, the ‘La Grand Ballon’ at ~1400m. And…yes, up and around the peak, the farmhouse restaurant…and we were on time. I savoured an entrée of goat’s cheese on herb toast and then beef with mashed potato.

Then a quiet and meditative walk through the trenches of the French-German front of WW1.

Hard to believe the carnage. It’s so peaceful and what remains is overgrown with ferns, plants and trees.

[Photo 7: French WWI gravesite in the Alsace © L.M. Kling 2014]
[Photo 8: Overgrown fortress © L.M. Kling 2014]
Photo 9: Overgrown mementos © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2014

Tuesday August 12, we left Badenweiler, to contend with trucks, road works, traffic jams in Freiburg, and our wayward Tom Tom to find our way to Burgau in Bavaria. Our Tom Tom led us right to a dead end of road works, just five kilometres from Burgau. Anthony managed to find our way around the “dud” roundabout exit and we arrived ten minutes after I rang the manager to say we’d arrive in half an hour.

[Photo 10: Our half an hour in Freiburg © L.M. Kling 2014]

[Read about the battle with the Tom Tom continuing in Bavaria— click on the link here.]

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2014; updated 2020; 2024; 2026

Feature Photo: Paraglider launching off the Hoch Blauen

***

Virtual Travel Opportunity

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

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

Trekking With the T-Team: Central Australian Safari

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

Second Friday Crime–Under the Bridge (6)

Sowing and Reaping

May 1977

Private College

Lillie

She perched on the kerb waiting. The minutes stretched, ticking into what seemed to her, an eternity. Cars whizzed past. With each car that emerged around the corner, the hope—her mum’s car. That battered blue FJ Holden, had suffered many knocks in its fifteen years of life. Like me, same age and having suffered hard knocks, she thought. But cars with anonymous drivers passed by and so did her hope…until she just sat…waiting…expectations drained…waiting.

A mixture of gloom and uneasiness haunted her. It had shadowed her all day. Ever since the first period, home class, when Dee, yes, that’s right, Dee, her arch enemy, had sidled up to her and hissed, ‘He’s mine, Lillie. He’s mine. He never liked you. He likes me.’

Dee slithered into her seat; pink lips pursed in a smile. She flicked her brown mane, and then glancing at Lillie, she smirked and then rubbed her hands together. ‘Mine!’ she mimed. ‘All mine.’

Lillie imagined Dee at that moment morphing from the budding model she was into a female form of Gollum, bent on possessing the ring offered by her latest conquest—Danny. Why else was Dee gloating?

[Photo 1: Gargoyle, Notre Dame, Paris © L.M. Kling 1998]

Lillie’s heart plummeted to the pit of her stomach. A drop of rain plopped on the pavement and sizzled. Lillie sighed. She’d seen him—Danny—that morning. Lofty, blonde hair tousled, framing his high cheekbones, strong jaw and his face all tanned. But Danny hadn’t seen her. He never saw her.

On the way back from chapel, Danny had been walking behind her and she’d worried about her uniform. Was her dress hitched up in her regulation stockings? Autumn and the school demanded girls wear the winter uniform with the awful scratchy woollen skirt. The month of May in Australia, that day, hot and all steamed up, clouds billowing with purple bellies, threatening a storm, but not before all the students at College were fried having to wear their blazers as well as their uniforms woven in wool. The principal threatened the punishment of suspension if they shed any part of their school attire.

Plop! Another drop. A rumble of thunder.

[Photo 2: Storm threatening © L.M. Kling 2023]

During the day, her usual foes added to her discomfort. She was already hot, sweaty, and itchy, and then they had to weigh in. On the way to English class, Dee and her clutch of fiends attacked from behind. They threw verbal abuse; the usual “stones” of “loser”, “dog” and “no one wants you, Lil”.

Lillie fixed her eyes ahead even as the heat rose to her cheeks. She trod up the stairs to Dee chanting, ‘Poor Lil, poor Lil, what a dill.’

As Lillie turned the corner of the stairs, she glanced down. Danny leaned against the rail. Dee sidled up to him and pointed. ‘Hey look! She’s got a hole in her stocking. Poor Lil, poor Lil. Too poor to buy new stockings, Lil.’

Dee laughed and her gang joined in.

Lillie turned and continued plodding up the stairs.

‘Charge!’ Dee yelled.

At her command, Lillie quickened her pace. She knew what was coming. The thudding, the cries and the horde as her foes surged upon her. They crowded in and jostled her. Big beefy Twisty jammed her into the lockers and then bumbled down the corridor.

As Lillie straightened herself, Dee strode up to her and poked her. ‘He’s mine, understand?’ She then waved her hand in front of her nose. ‘Phew! You stink! B.O.!’

Danny lingered an arm’s length from Dee, and as she minced into English class, she blew him a kiss. Lillie’s stomach churned, and with her gaze riveted to the floor, she followed Dee into class. Her scalp prickled with the sense that the eyes of every class member had set upon her. Her orthodontic braces took on astronomical proportions and her pigtails drooped like greasy strips of seaweed.

[Photo 3: Seaweed Sunset © L.M. Kling 2001]

Then Scripture class. Just her luck! Lillie picked Dee’s name out of the Encouragement Box. So, she had to find a verse from the Bible to encourage Dee. Dee? What sort of blessing could Lillie bestow on her worst enemy? The girl who had everything—popularity, beauty, and a boyfriend.

Lillie opened her Bible and picked out the first verse that caught her attention. She wrote down the verse from Galatians 6:7: “…for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.” She plopped the note for Dee back into the box. From what she could tell, Dee seemed happy with her note, if not mildly miffed by the message.

As she sat on the kerb waiting, Lillie reflected on the verse she received. Matthew 5:3: “Blessed are the poor in spirit…” She nodded and mused, That’d be right, Dee had me. Still, it does say I’m blessed.

That odd pair of siblings, Milo Katz and his younger sister, Sharon shuffled by. Lillie curled her lip and shuddered. She sank deeper into the shadows of the school’s office entrance. Both had this peculiar awkward gait, like they were a “sandwich short of a picnic” as Fifi often said of the mentally challenged. Milo certainly was. He’d failed Year 8 twice, then been relegated to the “special class”. He was in her confirmation class at her church and attended the same youth group. For some reason, Lillie had no idea why, he’d set his romantic sights on her, despite Lillie telling him more than once, that they could only be friends.

[Photo 4: Blessed be the burger eaters © L.M. Kling 2023]

Then Sharon graduated from confirmation and began attending youth group. She’d taken a shine to Lillie after she was her leader at a youth South Zone camp. Now every time Lillie came to youth group, Sharon made a beeline for her and stuck to her like a clingy baby. They called her “Shatz” as Sharon’s mother called her that as a term for endearment in their native European language. Fifi joked that Lillie was Shatz’s “mother”. The other girls began avoiding Lillie. They didn’t like Shatz. Behind her back and in front of this unfortunate child, they teased her, calling her, Shatz the— (a derogatory name that rhymed with Shatz).

Lillie mused, How could a dynamo of a woman such as Mrs. Katz, leader of the ladies guild, classy dresser in league with Fifi’s mum, have borne and raised these two lame ducks? Were Mr. and Mrs. Katz first cousins? Were their offspring inbred?

[Photo 5: Duck © L.M. Kling 2017]

A flash of lightning. A crack of thunder. Fat dollops of rain splatted on the footpath. Lillie sighed and muttered, ‘I’ll just have to risk getting laughed at. My mum’s car. What a relic! How embarrassing!’

She shrugged her bag full of books over her shoulder and sauntered to the chapel. Rain pelted down on her, and she sought refuge in an alcove of the chapel hidden behind a diosma bush. There, she drew her knees up to her chin and sniffed. The rain and then the tears had melted her mascara. Her vision blurred. She drew a soggy tissue from her blazer pocket and wiped her eyes.

The downpour stopped. Fellow students emerged from shelter and straggled along the road to the carpark where their cars or parents in their shining white Commodores awaited them.

Lillie examined her calloused knees that had broken through the holes in her stockings. When would mum be able to afford new stockings? Her parents barely scraped together the school fees. ‘We go without for your education,’ Mum says. Lillie had begun to understand how that worked in a posh school like this one. No friends, no choice but to study and get good grades…and a scholarship.

A car screeched. Expecting her mother, Lillie looked up. But it wasn’t her. But she saw them. Dee and Danny. They held hands. Dee nestled into Danny’s side as he held an umbrella over her, even though the sun now shone casting an eerie golden glow over the gum trees and oval. Lillie winced.

[Photo 6: Love birds © L.M. Kling 2023]

The couple perched on the chain fence where they swung back and forth and whispered into each other’s ears. Lillie parted the diosma bush. She watched and cursed them as wrapped in each other’s arms they consumed each other’s lips.

‘Ugh! How could they? In public!’ Lillie muttered. ‘I hope the principal catches them and puts them on detention.’

Lillie heard a familiar roar. She stepped from the bush and strode towards the carpark.

The FJ Holden raced up the driveway, its wheels crushing the car-park’s gravel in its rush to meet Lillie. Dee and Danny remained oblivious in their passion on the chain fence. Mum’s car cut through a large puddle. Water flew high in the air and then dumped on the couple.

Dee shrieked. They stood like two drenched rats, their legs and arms spread in their sodden clothes.

Now Dee really does look like Gollum, Lillie thought. Her nemesis’ mascara streamed down her face and made her eyes look like a panda’s and hair pasted on her head.

The couple glared at the FJ Holden as it screeched to a stop in front of Lillie. She smirked as she jerked open the white door of the mostly blue car and then scrambled in.

[Photo 7: Mum’s old car in Lillie’s mind © L.M. Kling 2010]

‘How was your day, dear?’ Mum asked.

‘You’re late,’ Lillie snapped.

As the FJ Holden with Lillie and her mum merged with the crowd of cars on the main road, Lillie glanced back and smiled.

‘Oh, by the way,’ Mum spoke while patting her wet hair from a late shower, ‘your dad’s gone for good this time.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Just do,’ her mother snapped. ‘Stop asking questions.’

Lillie gazed out the window at the passing Morphettville Racecourse and muttered, ‘Fine, then.’

‘Oh, another thing,’ Mum added, ‘You’ll be staying at your grandmother’s tonight. I hope you don’t mind, sorry about that.’

‘What about my…?’

‘Don’t worry dear, I’ve packed a bag. You know how your gran loves to have you.’

‘It’s okay, Mum,’ Lillie sighed, ‘at least I don’t have to put up with Sven’s arc-welding all night.’

‘Sorry about the inconvenience,’ Mum rattled on, ‘it’s Sven, you see, we’re just trying to help him set up his business. And I wish you wouldn’t begrudge him of that. Show a bit of respect.’

‘Sven, it’s always about Sven,’ Lillie mumbled to the window.

Her mother rambled on about everyone is different and that her brother needs a helping hand to move forward in life, and that Mr. Edwards was doing his best to help them out.

Lillie tuned out. She uttered not a syllable the rest of the journey to her grandmother’s house near Marion Shopping Centre.

[Next chapter Friday fortnight…]

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

Feature Photo: Autumn fruit © L.M. Kling 2024

***

Sometimes characters spring from real life,

Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.

Sometimes real life is just real life.

Check out my travel memoirs,

And escape in time and space

To Central Australia.

Click on the links:

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or for a greater escape into another world…

Check out my Sci-fi/ dystopian novel,

And click on the link:

The Lost World of the Wends

Family History Friday–Grandma’s Letter Part 2

Grandma’s circular letter

CIRCULAR WRITTEN by ELSA GROSS from HERMANNSBURG,

OCTOBER 1939

From Riverland to Desert (part 2)

About quarter to 7 we arrived at the station and there was the whole station out to meet us, black and white, big and little, and such a noise too, it sounded just like a whole lot of parrots or galahs.  Then the truck came to a standstill and Sam got out and had to shake hands all around.  I had to stay in the truck on account of the measles.  I could only talk to them from a distance.  It was just like a dream and to see all the natives running to and fro, reminded me of the movie films which Lou Borgelt had taken in New Guinea.

*[Photo 1: Greetings on arrival in Hermannsburg © S.O. Gross 1939]

        Well, after all the greetings were over we were taken across to our new home, which by the way isn’t very new, it’s one of the oldest houses on the station.  Mrs Albrecht was going to have us over there for the first few days for meals, but through this measles business we decided it was best if we stayed isolated for a while so as not to infect the natives.  Mrs Albrecht sent us over our tea, then, and such a huge tea, too, and we did full justice to it, too.

        And now began our life on the station.  But so far we haven’t seen very much of it, I haven’t been out of the place at all, Sam has gone to the other places more, but we keep away as much as possible.  And now, last weekend, Ruth gets the German Measles, she was fairly miserable, but is alright again now, except for a cough.  Now it means we have to stay isolated for another 10 days or so, in case Marie gets them.  It is a real nuisance, because we can’t get to anything properly.  The only advantage it has is that we can get things a bit straight around the place.

*[Photo 2: The not-so-new home—even older in 2021!!! © L.M. Kling 2021]

        Such a lot wants doing, the doors don’t fit, and the floors need doing, and the garden has to be made.  These last two days Sam has had 2 natives helping him with all sorts of odd jobs, yesterday and today they dug the front garden and this morning we planted the lawn and tomorrow I want to put in some flowers.

        The first 2 days we were here were terribly windy and dusty and hot.  The dust came in everywhere, it was just like a real dusty day in the mallee.   Our box of goods was supposed to come out the same day that we got out here, but it didn’t come Wednesday, we waited Thursday, and still didn’t come.  By this time Missionary Albrecht was getting worried, he thought the thing might have tipped over.  Friday morning we got a wire to say they couldn’t get it off the truck in Alice Springs.  They had been trying to get the wire through since Tuesday but the weather had been too bad, they couldn’t get it through.  So Sam had to pack up an go into Alice Springs and there saw to the unloading.  Eventually on Sunday afternoon the lorry arrived and was duly unpacked, of course the natives were very interested in everything, especially the piano.

*[Photo 3: The arduous journey of belongings to Hermannsburg © S.O. Gross 1939]

        So far I haven’t any house girls yet, as soon as we are out of quarantine I will get two.  Mrs Albrecht has been baking my bread for me until I get the girls.  Milk I have brought over every morning, also cream and from that I make my own butter, but unfortunately I am not a good hand at it yet.  There are some nice vegetables in our garden, which is quite a big one, we have over 20 date palms in it, 4 orange trees and 3 figs and quite a number of vines.  This last week we had about an inch of rain which was quite nice for the gardens and settled the dust.

*[Photo 4: Garden view to Mt. Hermannsburg—yes, the palms still exist in 2021 © L.M. Kling 2021]

        I am afraid it will take me quite a while to get to know all the natives and all their names too.  I know Albert, the artist, by sight, of course, he always wears an overcoat and is quite proud of his appearance.  I also know,

Manasse the leather worker, also Herbert and Ferdinand the two Sam had helping him.  Of the women, I think the only one I know by name is,        

Cecelia, an older woman who always wears a red dress.  Some of the children are lifted up so that they look over the fence to watch the children play and when we come out they scoot.  Some of their attire is pretty weird too.  One little chap wears his father’s shirt, it reaches nearly to the ground and has to have the sleeves rolled up.  Another little girl has her big sister’s dress on, and every time she runs she has to hold it up or she would fall over it.  Another little chap has a “has been” shirt on, his father’s, it’s only strips now.  Most of the men wear hats, some felt, some harvester hats.  The boys that Sam has have straw hats on but they look as though the mice have been at them.  Yesterday morning the one came along with feathers sticking out of the holes, I don’t know if he had visited the fowl-house or not.

*[Photo 5: Hermannsburg back in the day © S.O. Gross circa 1950]

        And now we have been here nearly 4 weeks and haven’t been able to do any real work yet, but we hope it won’t be much longer before we can start.

        And so begins our life on the Hermannsburg Mission Station.  May God make us a blessing to many.

© Elsa Gross 1939

*Feature Photo: My grandma, Elsa looking out from her Hermannsburg home © S.O. Gross circa 1940

***

Want more, but different?

Check out my Central Australian adventures.

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Second Friday Crime Fiction–Under the Bridge (5)

The Thin Blue Semblance of Control

Monday, January 17, 2022, 1:00pm

Adelaide CBD Police HQ

Dan Hooper

That same Monday, also in the afternoon, DCI Dan Hooper had the option of working from home. However, being conscientious, once his little two-bedroom abode in Morphettville, became too hot, he drove the quiet roads of January in Adelaide to his office in the CBD.

He parked in his allotted government-granted car space in the adjacent carparking station and made the brief walk past the pathology department to the Adelaide Police Station.

[Photo 1: Sea Mist Adelaide city © L.M. Kling 2020]

After adjusting his mask, QR coding, and rubbing disinfectant on his hands, Dan took the downward steps into the open-space office area. He stopped and breathed in the refrigerated air. So good to be working in air-conditioned comfort while the rest of the city broiled through a rare day for this summer’s heat. A heat that for Adelaide, was disturbingly humid.

Somehow, the city itself seemed to be the epicentre of heat, only rivalled by Dan’s townhouse near Morphettville racecourse. His air con system blew only warm air from the outside, more of a heater than an evaporative cooler. Despite Dan’s efforts to secure an air conditioner repairer, the dearth of tradesmen at the time made the dream melt into the distant future.

‘I could see if I could fit you in, May, perhaps?’ said one such well-advertised repairer.

Dan strode to his desk and slid down into ergonomic office chair. He chuckled. Still, nothing like the heat up north in the Territory. He flicked through files on his computer. Assignments piling up and less bodies to do the work.

He missed Eloise Delany, his partner. The increasing workload had taken its toll.

Dan sighed, stretched, stood and strolled over to the coffee vending machine. ‘Right, a coffee before a slow day wading through the emails, files, maybe some follow-up phone calls…’

A computer printout over the machine announced, “COFFEE MACHINE TEMPORARILY OUT OF ORDER.”

[Photo 2: The joys of Robot service, Halls Gap, Victoria © L.M. Kling 2023]

Dan rolled his eyes and shook his head. ‘Temporary? It’s been like this since Christmas. What’s this? Can’t get a coffee machine repairer either, I guess. January’s like that; everyone, except me, is on holidays.’ Dan had toyed with the idea of visiting his grown-up daughters in Switzerland over Christmas but decided against the venture. Apart from the expense of overseas travel at this time, he preferred the stinking heat to the cold and snow. The novelty of snow had worn off years ago. The girls had promised to visit next year when things settled down.

[Photo 3: Snow in Switzerland on the Santis—even in summer! © L.M. Kling 2014]

After resolving to later in the day brave the cloying heat and buy a takeaway coffee from the little café across the road, Dan once more settled in his chair. He shifted the mouse on the pad to wake up his computer. Only gone a few minutes, and already it had gone to sleep. ‘Like the rest of this town,’ Dan muttered.

After a brief flicker of the windows screen, the monitor turned an ominous shade of black. No explanation. Just black. Not ominous really. Just annoying.

‘I don’t believe it!’ Dan mumbled. ‘Worse than…’

‘Glad I’m not the only one; it was getting lonely in here with so many away and working at home,’ a voice above him spoke.

Dan swung his chair around and looked up. ‘Oh, Rory, g’day.’

 ‘I have a job for you, Dan.’ His boss, Rory Roberts hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. ‘Cold case. Some added information, just come through.’

Great! As if I haven’t got enough on my plate, Dan thought and then said, ‘Which one?’ he knew his reputation for solving mysterious cases preceded him. ‘Missing persons? Alien abductions?’

‘Why don’t we nip over to the café for a coffee, and I can tell you what I have in mind.’

‘Why not? I can do with a coffee.’

[Photo 4: Coffee time © L.M. Kling 2023]

In the cool climes of a café just on Mill Street behind the Supreme Court, Dan and his boss sat at a booth facing each other.

Dan sipped his cappuccino. ‘So, Rory, what have you got for me?’

‘Well, Dan, I don’t know if it will amount to anything, but I had a call from the public. I think they’ve been holding onto this information for more than forty years.’

‘Death-bed confession?’

‘Something like that.’ Rory spooned froth from his cup and licked his teaspoon. ‘You remember a certain Walter Katz? I was checking the files, and your name came up. As a young constable you attended the scene.’

‘Ah, I remember. My first call out.’ Dan laughed. ‘The chubby guy wrapped around the Stobie pole. I’ll never forget that. And losing my breakfast.’

‘Yep, that’s the one.’

‘I thought it was a case of misadventure. Motorbike, showing off, riding too fast with all that gravel down there on the Esplanade at Sellicks…’

[Photo 5: Sellicks Beach © L.M. Kling 1984]

‘There’s been a development,’ Rory said. ‘A panel beater who was working at Lonsdale at the time, had some religious experience. Converted, or whatever they do these days in the church, and he felt that he needed to get this thing off his chest.’

‘Right. Hardly a challenge if he did it.’

‘He did the panel beating. On a red Ford Falcon XB 1976 model.’

‘Cool. Go on.’

‘What’s remarkable is that he kept the details of the job. He was meticulous in that way. And what troubled him was the blood he found on the driver’s side headlight.’

‘And he never came forward with that information?’ Dan said and took another sip of his coffee.

‘Until today. At the time, the lad whose car he was fixing said he’d hit a roo and of course, you know how often lads hit animals out in the country, he believed him. End of story.’ Rory took a slurp of his coffee and continued. ‘The thing was, it was only when his wife managed to hit a few roos writing off her car on a trip back from Queensland, that he began to re-visit his repairs on the Ford. You see, this guy was meticulous. He even took photographs, before and after, which back then was rare, considering how expensive film was. So, when he found the file and compared the damage, he also noticed a streak of black paint on the car’s right side. And of course, he examined the photo of the car damage and said he was sure that the Ford had hit another car, or a motorbike, not a roo.’

‘Interesting, I’ll look into it.’ Dan rubbed his hands. ‘I wonder if the Ford Falcon still exists. They go for quite a bit nowadays.’

‘Good, I’ll email the details of the accident to you.’ Rory smiled. ‘I’ve teamed you up with Dee. Hope you don’t mind. I know she can be difficult.’

Dan sighed, and said with a tone of sarcasm, ‘Rory, you’ve made my day.’

[Photo 6: Happy Kangaroo, Aldinga Scrub © L.M. Kling 2023]

Back in the office, having “borrowed” his absent neighbour’s desk and computer, Dan drank a second coffee in a foam takeaway cup. He gleaned mechanic Warick Wilke’s statement. He peered at the address given. ‘Kapunda,’ he sighed. ‘A long drive, but it should be worth it.’

Dan felt slightly awkward at the thought. He and Dee had history…

His mobile vibrated. He stared at the time displayed, five o’clock and swiped to accept call.

‘Hi Dan, it’s Eloise.’

‘Hi Eloise, how are you enjoying your holiday?’

‘Painting,’ Eloise said, ‘I love it.’

‘But you miss the excitement of the force?’

‘No. Actually, this is not a social call.’

‘Oh.’

‘You see, while painting with my friend, Fifi, she shared with me some troubling information. I just wondered if you could investigate it.’

Dan inhaled. ‘Let it go, Eloise.’

[Photo 7: Autumn vineyard, Barossa Valley © L.M. Kling 2017]

‘No, I’m serious. The story she told me has been bothering me. I know I can’t do much now. But I just thought, you could put some feelers out. I’m sorry, I know you are busy and all that. But…’

‘You just want to help.’

‘Yes, you see my friend Fi’s father went missing forty-four years ago. 1978, to be exact. She said, that a few years later, in 1980 her and her friends came upon a corpse. Fi was sure it was her father and her friend Lillie said she’d reported the finding to the police. But, Dan, what worries me, is that nothing was ever done. Nobody ever contacted her, nor the family,’ Eloise explained.

‘Well, it was the ‘80’s.’

‘I know, explains how so many people could go missing and never a result. But, still, I feel for my friend and want resolution for her. You understand, don’t you?’

Dan exhaled. He wanted to say, Why don’t you just come back, Eloise? But he refrained. He knew she needed this time to rest and heal from burnout. ‘Look, Eloise, you understand that I’m terribly busy, just got another cold case to handle today. Oh, and I’m working with Dee. But I’ll see what I can do.’

‘I pity you, but anyway, thank you.’ Eloise breathed. ‘The MISPA’s name is Percy Wilbur Edwards born 1925. Went missing January 1978.’

Eloise proceeded to give the details of Percy’s beachside suburb address at the time and what Fifi recalled of his movements the day he disappeared. She also conveyed Fifi’s vague directions where they had seen the corpse and the date that had occurred.

Dan nodded and concluded the call with the words, ‘I’ll look into it.’

Intending to call this Warick Wilke, Dan picked up the phone, the landline. Then he placed the receiver down. ‘Darn! I must go with Dee.’

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

*Feature Photo: Proud Owner of a red Charger © courtesy of L.M. Kling 1989

***

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

Flash Back Friday–100-Word Challenge

Character Study

I have spent a few hours of this good Friday reading the diary of my Great Aunt Dora. The story begins all full of the hopes of a young 18-year-old first-generation Australian girl whose parents had migrated from Germany to South Australia around 1877. I know her story, I knew and loved my great Aunt Dora. She will never marry. One of many women of her time, when, after World War 1, there were not enough men to go around. I imagine this is what life in the 1920’s was like for her, a maiden aunt caring for her parents.

Dora

She had one once. Before the war.

He came from Hamburg. A distant relative from the family.

But the Great War intruded. He was the enemy.

Interned. Never to return.

She perched on the bench in the Royal Botanical Gardens. Watching. Men promenading in pale pinstriped suits, on their arms women in their frilly-white Sunday best, giggling.

Easy for the men, she thought. Pick and choose. Pick and choose. Even the damaged men, the cripples, have a chance.

She sniffed.

What about me? Is that my future? Caring for my aging parents? No choice but to be an old maid?

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2020; updated 2024

Feature Photo: A lone date palm, Botanical Gardens © L.M. Kling (nee Trudinger) 1986

***

Want more memoir? Some travel?

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

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

Trekking with the T-Team: Central Australian Safari 1981

Or

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Check out my War Against Boris series…

The Hitch-hiker

Mission of the Unwilling

The Lost World of the Wends

Friday Crime Fiction–Under the Bridge (4)

Chapter 3

Painting Pals

Monday, January 17, 2022

Church Hall in a Seaside Suburb of Adelaide

Eloise

The sun’s rays filtered through the dust motes of the church hall near the seaside. The air conditioner thrummed pumping out the sticky 40-degree Celsius heat that Monday afternoon in January.

Eloise Delaney unloaded her motley collection of watercolour palettes, colour-splattered former honey jars and 300-gsm paper framed with masking tape. She then arranged her brushes. Thick sable, round and soft, like the tip of her tabby cat, Spike’s tail. Great for that initial wash of sky, sea and sand.

She had lined up the thinner brushes in order of detail as the painting progressed. She stroked the finest brush, the one used for her flourish of a signature; the one more than 70-years old from her maternal grandfather’s collection salvaged after the bombing of his home in Nördlingen, Bavaria 1945. It was premium quality being made in Germany.

She sighed, ‘Must do this so nothing is lost.’

‘Talking to yourself already?’ a voice sang. ‘Sign of madness, ya know.’

‘Consequences of early retirement, I guess.’ Eloise laughed. ‘Least I had a social life when I was working.’

‘What do you call this?’ Eloise’s pear-shaped friend flicked a wiry lock of henna tinted hair from her freckled face. ‘Is this seat taken?’

‘Nah, go ahead. I could do with the company, Fi.’

Fifi settled herself on the plastic chair diagonally opposite Eloise, and after fumbling in her tote-bag, produced a mini flask. The thin mauve cannister wobbled on the newspaper that covered the trestle table. ‘I’m economising today; made my own brew.’

‘I’m celebrating,’ Eloise said and held up her takeaway cappuccino from the café down the road. ‘The “Rabbit hole” beareth fruit.’

Fifi pulled out her sketch pad, set of Derwent pencils and three scrunched up tissues. Then she leaned forward ‘What? Oh, your family history. Any noble? Kings and queens? Or, let me guess, some royal fruit from the other side of the royal bed?’

‘Well, actually, sort of…’ Eloise dipped her brush in the former honey pot full of water. ‘France, actually. And a bed of his ancestor’s made long, long ago.’

[Photo 1: Eiffel Tower, Paris © L.M. Kling 2014]

‘Well, I could have told you that, him being French, I mean.’ Fifi wiggled her generous behind on the chair, and then smoothed a fresh page of her sketchbook. ‘Do tell.’

El opened her mouth to spill forth all the juicy gossip about tracing her husband’s tree, a royal line stretching way back beyond Charlemagne and to Julius Caesar—all done without the help of DNA, but hours of research—when the leader stood and welcomed the small art group back from the holiday break.

Plus, there was that strange woman sitting behind them who was listening to every word El spoke. That woman, Sharon Katz, nicknamed Shatz, with the mouse-brown hair and the poisonous mushrooms (picked from the forest and dried) she foisted on El just before Christmas—insisted she take them. Lucky for El, her husband, Francis Renard, as a keen gardener and scientist, warned her of the dangers and she threw the suspect fungi into the bin. The next week, Shatz made a point of asking how El how she was feeling. All holidays El puzzled over Shatz. Had she had a run-in with this Shatz in times past while doing her duty as a police officer? Or was Shatz one of Francis’s former lovers?

‘Tell you another time,’ El whispered. ‘Probably should get Francis’ permission first.’

‘Oh, okay, then.’ Fifi sighed. ‘So, how was your Christmas?’

‘Meh! Glad it’s over for another year, Fi.’ Eloise smiled. ‘Francis and I had a quiet one on the actual day, then we all went to my cousin’s in Flagstaff Hill on Boxing Day. It was a disaster. You know, in the middle of Christmas lunch, which I might add, was leftovers from their Christmas day, someone, not mentioning any names, just had to bring up the latest controversy circulating on Fox News. Next thing, arguments all round. Renard and I left early and walked around the newly opened Happy Valley Reservoir. At least that part of Boxing Day was enjoyable.’

[Photo 2: Happy Valley Reservoir © L.M. Kling 2022]

‘Well, my Christmas Day, thanks for asking, Eloise,’ Fifi’s lips tightened for a moment, ‘I don’t know why we bother and make such a fuss about the whole thing.’

‘Yeah, I know, the novelty wore off years ago. I just wish we could get back to the basics, the real meaning of Christmas and celebrate that.’

Fifi nodded. ‘Yeah, who needs another voucher? All we do is exchange money and vouchers these days. Where did the love go? Although, in my family, even with all those kids my parents had, there wasn’t much love.’

‘Really? I always envied your big family.’

Fifi sniffed. ‘If you really knew my family and what went on behind closed doors, you wouldn’t be envious.’

‘Why?’ Eloise may have been taking time out from her job as a detective, but she had not lost her inquisitive nature. ‘What went on behind closed doors?’

‘My dad, when he was around, was a pompous twat.’

‘How so?’ Eloise asked. She noticed Shatz, lifting her head, looking at them and listening again. Her curiosity annoyed El and she turned around and glared at the woman. Shatz dropped her eyes down to her sheet of paper and pretended to work on her pastel rendition of a bullfrog.

Shatz’s eavesdropping didn’t bother Fifi who continued, ‘He was hard on us kids. If we did the slightest thing wrong, he’d thrash us. Typical of his generation and background, European, you see. He thought you hit kids into submission. And, as for girls, they were to be seen, but not heard. He treated us girls like slaves.’ Fifi thumped the table. ‘I hated him.’

Fifi’s cannister of coffee toppled from the table and rolled on the floor.

Shatz picked up the cannister and handed it back to Fifi. ‘My dad was the same,’ she said before El’s frown drove her back to her seat to resume painting.

El then said, ‘He didn’t mellow in his old age?’

‘He left and…’ Fifi paused, ‘…and I was glad. Life improved after he was gone.’

Eloise studied Fifi and the freckles that danced on her face as her eyes blinked and her mouth twitched. ‘I sense that your father did more than just leave, Fi.’

Fifi’s eyes widened. ‘How did you know that?’

‘Part of the job, Fi. So, what did he really do?’

 ‘It was the strangest thing, Eloise.’ Fifi took a deep breath. ‘One day, my friend Lillie, and Jimmy my brother and I went for a hike up to Mount Lofty. On the way down, we did a bit of exploring. I can’t remember whose idea it was. Anyway, I go looking at this culvert. I had in mind that this hole in the side of the hill could be some disused mine and that I could find gold there. But, when I go down there, I see this body. Just bones and leathery skin over the bones like…but I recognised the boots. Those boots. I had lost count of the times those boots had kicked me…I knew it was my dad. But at the same time, I didn’t want it to be true. I just hoped they, whoever they were, were somebody else with the same type of boots.’

[Photo 3: Mt. Lofty Botanical Gardens © L.M. Kling 2014]

‘Oh, right, when was that?’ Eloise had turned over her paper and had begun to take notes with a piece of charcoal. ‘How long ago, did you say?’

‘Over forty years.’ Fifi replied softly. ‘He’s been gone since January 1978.’

‘Forty-four—exactly.’

‘How did he end up in a ditch? Near an old mine?’

Fifi shrugged. ‘Not sure, but he had enemies.’

‘I see.’

‘You see, we did report it to the police. But nothing happened. Forty years, and nothing. I mean, I know he was a creep and often rubbed people up the wrong way, but he was still my dad. And I just wanted to…you know, find out why he ended up there. Why anyone would. Dead. And no one seems to care.’

Silence for a few minutes. Fifi sipped her coffee while Eloise studied her notes. The happy chatter from fellow artists provided background noise. The air conditioner continued to thrum.

‘Mm,’ Shatz began in a soft voice, ‘my brother was killed in a motorbike…’

El turned and narrowed her eyes at Shatz. Was this woman trying to get attention? she thought.

‘Sorry,’ Shatz said. ‘But I knew Mr. Edwards, he was a real…’

‘Well, of course you did,’ Fifi huffed, ‘we went to the same church, remember?’

‘Never mind, sorry,’ Shatz mumbled.

Another pause.

After the pause, Eloise looked up. ‘Would you like me to follow this up?’

‘I don’t know.’ Fifi wiped her eye. ‘I guess. But isn’t it a bit awkward for you now that you’re…?’

‘No trouble. I can call Dan, my partner, or should I say, my ex, or whatever he is now that I’m on leave. I can still use the phone.’

‘Thanks.’

‘I’ll see what I can do. No promises. But it’s worth a try, don’t you think?’

[Painting 2: Late Summer Sunset Kingston Park, Brighton in Watercolour © L.M. Kling 2023]

The rest of the afternoon, Eloise and Fifi occupied their thoughts with painting and sketching. The cheerful chatter of the other artists continued, none the wiser of Fifi’s loss and childhood trauma. Except for Shatz. El wished that woman who attempted to poison her wouldn’t be so nosey and would mind her own business.

The air conditioner kept on thrumming until the rush for pack up and departure. Then as the last person locked up the building, they turned off the infernal humming machine and the heat of late afternoon in Adelaide seeped into the empty hall.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2024

Feature Painting: Seacliff Beach Sunset in pastel © 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

Family History Friday–1939

Letters from our forebears give us today a rich picture of them, their personalities and their lives. As it’s my maternal grandmother’s birthday tomorrow (March 16), I am sharing the first part of a circular letter written by Elsa of the family’s relocation from the Murray Riverland to the desert Centre of Australia back in October 1939. My grandpa, Sam, Elsa’s husband had been called to be a missionary pastor in Hermannsburg, Northern Territory. Note the timing of this adventure. World War Two had just broken out, but no mention in this letter.

CIRCULAR WRITTEN by ELSA GROSS from HERMANNSBURG,

OCTOBER 1939

                                                                        Hermannsburg

                                                                        via Alice Springs

                                                                        October 1939

[Photo 1: The Family © S.O. Gross 1939]

Dear Friends,

        Well, here we are at Hermannsburg at last, our long journey is at an end.  We have a home again, although till now our goods haven’t arrived – we are anxiously waiting for them to be able to pack away our things – but – this is the land of ‘wait-a-while’ – so we will just have to wait until they come.

[Photo 2: Moving home chaos, home in Berri, Riverland South Australia © S.O. Gross September 1939]

        We had a very pleasant journey up from Adelaide.  Went as far as Port Augusta in my father’s car, after having stayed overnight at a cousin’s place in Murraytown.  It was very nice going up by car, it saved changing twice and with all our luggage it would have been quite a picnic.  We had arranged to meet Karl in Port Augusta, but when we arrived there we discovered he had German Measles, so we could only speak to him from the other side of the room; he was in bed, and he couldn’t even come to see us off, which was quite disappointing.

[Photo 3: On Father’s (my grandmother’s father pastor F.W. Basedow) Car © S.O. Gross 1939]

        Anyhow, at 4.30am on Thursday 28th we steamed out of the Port Augusta station.  We had sleeping berths, the children and I with 2 other ladies in the one compartment, 4 berths in each, and Sam & 3 other men in the next compartment.  During the day we were mostly alone in Sam’s compartment, the other men went on the other part of the train and just came back to sleep.  It was very nice because then the children had room to romp around a bit.  The sleeping berths were very comfortable, 2 at the top and 2 at the bottom.  We all had bottom ones, Ruth & Marie in one, I in the other one and Margaret between in her basket.  During the day the beds are just ordinary seats and for the night they put the back-leans down and it makes a comfortable bed.  The children stood the travelling very well, they were very excited of course to go in the train.  The end of the second day (Friday) they got a bit tired of it, but soon got over that.  The only one who didn’t enjoy it too much was Margaret, she was running a temperature most of the time and was particularly grizzly on Saturday afternoon.  The next morning we could see why – she had German Measles, but the rash didn’t last long, and now she is just about right again.  Now we are wondering if Ruth and Marie will get it, they have colds, so we are keeping ourselves isolated out here, we don’t want to give it to the natives, they always get things so much worse than the whites.  One of the ladies in our compartment had them too, she was very miserable, was in bed for most of the trip.

[Photo 4: On the Ghan heading up north to Alice Springs © S.O. Gross 1939]

        Well, to go on with our trip.  From Port Augusta to Oodnadatta, which we reached at 9 o’clock on Friday night, there wasn’t much to see, flat deserty-looking country, a lot of it covered with stones, not nice smooth ones, were like broken bits, it makes a person wonder where they all came from — no hills, just these plains covered with stones.  We also passed a lake, but that looked as dreary and dead-looking as all the rest of the country.  That was to Oodnadatta, when it was night.  But when we woke the next morning it was different, grass and trees and ranges and wild flowers.  One advantage about this trip is, that they stop at every station or siding, sometimes there are just one or 2 houses, other places a few more.  One place we stopped at, Anna Creek, by name, the 2 or 3 railway houses had lovely gardens and lawns, such a contrast to all the surrounding country.  We saw something similar at Rumbalara , where the police station is.  At this place we had to wait for nearly 2 hours as our engine had broken something and they had to steam up another one.  This long stay enabled us to see some of the wild flowers growing along the line.  They are altogether different to the ones in the south, and such a variety, too, and they appeared to be past their best too.  It must be a wonderful sight when they are all out.  This delay at Rumbalara made us late, of course, at Alice Springs.  We arrived there at quarter to 5 instead of 2.15.  Missionary Albrecht arrived to meet us a few minutes after the train was in, and took us and our host of luggage to Johannsens, where we slept.

[Photo 5: A picnic lunch on the way © S.O. Gross 1939]

        After we had had tea Missionary Albrecht took us out to the little church which they have in Alice Springs.  It was presented by Mr Materne of Nuriootpa as a Thank offering.  It is a nice little church with a fairly large vestry and a sleep-out, so that anyone coming in from the mission station has somewhere to stay.  At the church we met some of the natives of Alice Springs, they are being cared for by the evangelist Martin, who holds services twice every Sunday, when there is no missionary there and also gives baptismal instruction.  He is a very fine man.  Here the children met the first natives.  They had seen some from the train already and were greatly excited.  To our amazement they weren’t at all afraid of them, and not any more shy, if as shy, as with white children.  They shook hands with them much to the natives delight.

[Photo 6: Where’s our homely contents? © S.O. Gross 1939]

        The next day services were held there, in the morning it was in Arunda, but during the service Missionary Albrecht welcomed Sam and he then spoke a few words to them in English.  In the afternoon Sam conducted the service and preached the sermon, in English of course.  There were about 60 natives there for the services, not as many as usual so they said, some were away working.  Several whites came to the afternoon service, Johannsens and others.  Unfortunately I wasn’t able to go as Margaret was sick, I was so sorry I had to miss it.

[Photo 7: The moving van back then on its way to Hermannsburg © S.O. Gross 1939]

        On Monday Sam and Missionary Albrecht had quite a lot of business to see to, and then on Tuesday morning we set off for Hermannsburg at about 11 o’clock, Sam and Marie on the back of the loaded truck with a native man, and Missionary Albrecht and Ruth, Margaret and I in the front seat.  It was a fairly hot day but not unpleasant.  We called in at “The Jay”, 25 miles from “The Alice”, the home of Mr & Mrs T. Strehlow.  They persuaded us to stay there for dinner.  They have a nice little home, 3 rooms, with a lovely wide verandah, made of cement bricks.  They also have a refrigerator.  It was just lovely to have the nice cool water and also ice cream, a real luxury way out in the bush.  At about 3 o’clock we went on.  It wasn’t quite so hot then.  Up to the Jay the road had been fair, it had been made some time ago for the Governor General.  After we left the Jay it wasn’t quite so good, it had been washed out by the heavy rains and that meant driving fairly slowly with the loaded truck.  We had to cross over so many creeks and of course there were no bridges, but stones and sand instead.  The truck had to pull and pant and bump to get across in some places.  The scenery was quite nice though.  Before we came to the Jay we were travelling right in the ranges, but after passing there the country was more open, a plain, with ranges along both sides.  But there is nothing like a desert around here.  It is more like one of the back roads in the mallee, only of course more creek beds to cross.

[Photo 8: The Arrival of all the goods and chattels © S.O. Gross 1939]

        I quite forgot to mention that after we left the Jay we drove around the native camp, where blind Moses is the evangelist.  These natives live in grass huts.  They were very pleased see us and of course we had to shake hands all around.  Then they sang a hymn, after which Missionary Albrecht offered up a prayer and they all then recited the Lord’s Prayer, all in Arunta of course. It was wonderful to think that out there in the bush, underneath the gum trees, those natives praying and singing praises to their Saviour just as the white people do in their Churches.  The natives were very interested in our children, and of course our children were very interested in them too.  Before we left Missionary Albrecht had to take orders for the different ones, they had a few pennies to spend, one wanted a hair clasp, another some lollies and so on.  Next time somebody from here goes to Alice Springs the things have to be taken to them from the store here.

[…to be continued]

© Elsa Gross 1939

Feature Photo: The Gross Girls on the Ghan © S.O. Gross 1939

***

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Friday Crime Fiction–Under the Bridge (3)

[In this bite-sized chapter, we meet Zoe Thomas who makes a discovery that will change her life and unbeknown to her at the time, unearth a more than 40-year-old mystery. This will ultimately open the proverbial pandora’s box and cause chaos to a number of now-settled individuals and their families. In future episodes, this revelation, for our Detective Inspector Dan Hooper, will add to his workload as the chief investigating officer, and force his partner in crime-fighting, Eloise Delaney to cut short her long-service leave and return to work.]

Who do ya think ya woz?

Monday January 17, 2022, 10:00 hours

Huon Valley, Tasmania

Zoe Thomas

While the mourners and well-meaning well-wishers and the like gathered in the church hall, loading their plates with condolences and their mouths with egg sandwiches, Zoe Thomas slipped out. Unnoticed, she slid around the corner away from the toilets and then leant up against the whitewashed wall warmed by the summer sun.

‘Oy!’ her dad called. ‘Y’ all right?’

She sighed. ‘Yeah, fine for a girl who’s just lost her mother, if you could call her that.’

‘What do ya mean by that?’ Dad rolled out a cigarette, flicked his lighter to flame, then cupped his hands to gently start the smoking ritual. Then with the cigarette hanging from his mouth said, ‘Don’t speak ill of the dead.’

‘You’re not my father, so how do I know that she’s my mother?’

‘Oh, what makes you think that I’m not ya pa?’

Zoe pulled a folded piece of paper, a computer printout, from her little black handbag. She opened it up and while he puffed away, she held it in front of him. ‘This says that a Francis Renard is my closest relative, my father, most probably. How do you explain that, Dad? I mean Greg.’

Greg blanched. ‘Oh, yes, well.’

‘Well? Did mum have a fling with this Francis Renard forty years ago? In 1981?’

Her father looked away before taking another drag on his cigarette. ‘She said neva to tell ya this. Ova ‘er dead body, she did. Well, now the bosses gone, I need to get somethink off me chest.’

‘What?’

‘Ya mutha woz not ya mutha.’ Greg coughed, a hacking cough.

‘What are you saying, Dad?’ She punched Greg softly on the arm. ‘You need to quit smoking before it…I don’t want to be staring down at you in a coffin or organising your funeral so soon after mum’s.’

Her dad cleared his throat. ‘Yeah, I know. Must give up.’ Then in a husky voice. ‘You woz adopted, luv.’

‘Oh, that explains it. You don’t mind if I chase up my birth parents, then? Which adoption agency did you go through?’

‘We didn’t. You came out of the apple orchard, ‘n paid for like.’

‘Huh? Come again?’

 ‘The truth woz, you wozn’t exactly a legal adoption.’ Greg sighed. ‘More like an arrangement between friends. Well, what I mean to say is that we ‘elped a girl who got ‘erself into trouble, out of ‘er trouble.’

‘For her financial benefit,’ Zoe said.

‘Yeah, but please don’t tell anyone. The missus, your mum didn’t want any trouble for us or the girl. She had a sad life and we just wanted to make sure she got off on the right foot and could make a go of it. And well, we couldn’t ‘ave children, so it was well, an arrangement that suited both parties.’

Zoe looked at Greg. ‘Do I know my birth mother? Did you stay connected with her?’

Greg shook his head. ‘It’s a long time ago, pet. Mum thought it best we didn’t. We didn’t want the townsfolk asking too many questions or the cops getting involved. And losing you.’

‘What was her name?’

Greg shrugged.

‘Do you know where she came from, at least?’

‘From the mainland, I think.’ Greg threw the spent stub on the pavement and ground it with his foot. ‘Came here for the apple picking season when we ‘ad the orchard in the Huon Valley. Stayed on in a caravan in the paddock till you woz born.’

‘You must’ve got to know where on the mainland?’

Greg rolled another cigarette. ‘All I know woz, she had a posh accent, like from England. It was a long time ago, luv. A long time…all under the bridge, now.’

[…continued next Friday fortnight]

© Tessa Trudinger 2024

Feature Photo: Sleeping Beauty over Huon River © L.M. Kling 2016

***

Sometimes characters spring from real life,

Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.

Sometimes real life is just real life.

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Final Trek Friday–T-Team Next Gen

Woomera, Then Home (part 2)

[I never actually finished the story of the T-Team, Next Generation’s adventures in Central Australia in 2013. So, here is the final chapter in the series. Next month, I will commence the journey at the beginning, as I revisit our journey to scatter my dad’s ashes in Central Australia eleven years ago.]

Woomera II and the Final Leg of our Journey

In the cool crisp morning, sun shining lemon yellow rays but not much warmth, we strolled around the Woomera Rocket Museum. Rockets of all shapes and configurations stood in the open-air, testimony of what once was. This RAAF Base and village was once a lively town in the 1950’s and 60’s, as an Anglo-Australian Cold War defence project. On this day Saturday July 20, 2013, the place seemed a mere shell of its former self, a cemetery of what once was, rockets rising like giant tombstones to the sky.

We meandered around the rockets, reading signs, eulogies from the past when threats from enemy nations was imminent. I was reminded of older friends telling me of a time when they practised drills of hiding under their school desk in the event of enemy attack.

*[Photo 1: Monument, A Rocket at Woomera © L.M. Kling 2013]

My mother recalled when on February 19, 1942, Darwin was bombed. She was a girl in Hermannsburg at the time and whenever a plane flew over, the Aranda women would wail, fearing disaster.

*[Photo 2: Twists and turns © L.M. Kling 2013]

Now, Hermannsburg was a mission set up by German missionaries in 1877. Although, by the 1940’s the mission was fair dinkum Australian having existed in Australia for all that time, with the advent of World War II and the conflict with Germany, the name, being German, raised the suspicions of the Allies. Hence, Mum remembers British Officers* drove into Hermannsburg to check the place out. They had to make sure there were no German spies. My grandpa, Pastor Sam Gross and his wife (my grandma) hosted these officers and put on a lovely spread of lunch for them.

[Photo 3: The Hermannsburg welcome Spread © C.D. Trudinger circa 1955]

After investigating any mitigating threats, the British Officers* drove away in their propeller plane satisfied that Hermannsburg was no threat. Never-the-less, they confiscated the one and only link to civilisation, the community pedal radio. Just in case they really were spies, I guess. Further, to make sure that no threat to the allies arose from this humble mission, they sent Rex Batterbee, a world War I veteran, to oversee the mission in the role of “protector of the aborigines”. As he had visited and then lived in Central Australia since the mid-1930’s, Rex taught Albert Namatjira to paint watercolours and helped him launch his career as a renowned artist.

*[Photo 4: Albert Namatjira at work © S.O. Gross circa 1950]

Homeward Bound

Needless to say, in 2013, such threats of foreign enemies seemed in the distant past. But, being only 446 km from our home town, Adelaide, we were reluctant to linger amongst the rockets. Having packed, and checked out of our overnight accommodation, we were eager to start our journey home.

At a steady 90 km/h, we made progress down the highway that split the gibber plains in halves.

‘I bet the T-Team (my brother’s family) are home by now,’ I said. ‘No hanging around of taking time to look at any more places for them.’

‘Why don’t you ring them just to see where they’re at,’ my hubby said.

I texted my niece. The time was 10:30am.

“We are in Port Augusta,” she replied by text.

‘There’s no way we’ll catch up to them,’ I said, and then texted back, “Have a safe trip home.”

*[Photo 5: Off we go over the gibber plains © L.M. Kling 2013]

Clouds and rain descended on the land the further we drove south. By the time we reached Port Wakefield, the cold had seeped into the car. I put my parka on my legs to keep warm. Yet, for lunch Hubby insisted we eat alfresco in the rotunda at Port Wakefield. After all, despite his aversion to the cold, he needed to stretch his legs. Plus, it seemed no café existed in the town.

The rain and cold became more intense as we approached Adelaide. After driving through the grey, sodden streets, we arrived home, just as darkness fell at 5:30pm.

What disaster awaited us?

Hubby opened the door and we trod inside. Son 1 played a computer game on the PC in the dining/living annex. He ignored us. We tiptoed through the family room. Not too much mess and the carpet remained visible, and clean.

We found Son 2 all rugged up and cosy in his room playing World of Warcraft. He said, “Hello” and then asked for a coffee, then followed the conversation up with, “I’m hungry, what’s for tea?”

In the kitchen, as I prepared a drink, I noticed the dishes had been done and the cats fed. I thanked Son 1 for the effort. He took all the glory and remarked that his brother had done nothing.

The Aftermath

There’s always casualties that follow every holiday. And this one was no different. Two paintings which I had planned to exhibit in the upcoming Marion Art Group exhibition had gone AWOL. I’d like to think they were stolen…but I reckon they would be found in some odd place sometime in the future.

*[Painting: Dad’s resting place, Ormiston Gorge © L.M. Kling 2018]

Eleven years hence as I write this final chapter, I wonder what paintings they were.

Oh, and the other casualty, Hubby, who proudly exalted that he had taken thousands of photos of the Central Australian trip on his mobile phone, can no longer find where those photos went. It would seem those photos went AWOL too.

As for the T-Team, they actually arrived home after us, having spent a night at Port Germaine. They decided to treat themselves after roughing it for the past two weeks.

*[Photo 6: Port Germaine Jetty © L.M. Kling 2024]

***

Note: *My mum, Mrs. T checked this and questioned whether they were British. She thinks they were more likely to be Australian. However, I have read a letter written by these officers and the words they used made them sound British. When I find the letter, I will investigate the background of the visiting officers and plan to write a more detailed account of my grandparent’s experience.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2024

Feature Photo: Woomera Open-air Museum in the morning © L.M. Kling 2013

***

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