I would like to wish my readers a very happy festive season.

This may be difficult for some who are alone or stuck in or on the wrong side of the English Channel or perhaps have to endure relatives you secretly despise.

As far as is possible may you enjoy love, laughter, friendships and the courage to go forth into 2010 with brave hearts and optimism and remember chocolate is bad for your dog no matter how much he drools in anticipation all over your shoes.

This should be the time for peace and love. If you can't stand any of the above, sleep for twenty-four hours and it will all be over once more.

Elizabeth Thompson (Cynthia)

This is a poem written by a lady from North East Victoria.
I love it. It sums up the time of year rather well.

The Twelve Days of Christmas.


On the first day of Christmas my true love said to me
‘I’ve bought a big fresh turkey and a proper Christmas tree’

On the second day of Christmas much laughter could be hear
As we tucked in to our turkey, a most delicious bird.

On the third day of Christmas came the people from next door
The turkey tasted just as good as it had the day before.

On the fourth day of Christmas some wine and cheese we had.
We were bright and happy…the turkey, a bit sad.

On the fifth day of Christmas outside was hot as hell,
But we were cool as cucumbers and the turkey was as well.

On the sixth day of Christmas the festive spirit died.
The children fought and bickered as we ate the turkey fried.

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love he did wince
When I sat him at the table and offered turkey mince.

On the eighth day of Christmas our doggie ran for shelter
When he saw the turkey pancakes and the glass of Alka-Seltzer.

On the ninth day of Christmas, by the ‘arvo’ dad was blotto
‘Cos he knew the bird was back again, this time in risotto.

On the tenth day of Christmas we were drinking homemade brew
As if that wasn’t bad enough, we all ate turkey stew.

On the eleventh day of Christmas the Christmas tree was moulting
And with chilli, soy and oyster sauce the turkey was revolting.

On the twelfth day of Christmas we all had smiles upon our lips!
The guests had gone, the turkey too and we sat down to fish and chips.

By Di Saines.

Letter From The Other Side from Cynthia

Dear Del,

The sounds of the ‘Sugar Plum Fairy’ tinkling about, ‘Silent Night’ and painful to the ear renditions of ‘I’m Dreaming Of A White Christmas’ issuing out of the shops, plus the aroma of summer mangoes, peaches, tomatoes and strawberries filling the air means it must be Christmas. If we include cherries glistening in their boxes, flanked by pineapples, avocado pears and melons, we know that salad days are here.

I am trying to get myself into the festive mood and finding it difficult.

Teddy and I put our Christmas tree up in front of the fireplace and decorated it with some care this year. I even purchased new decorations. The old ones were perhaps more tired of trying to appear festive than I am. However I do appreciate the pine scent the tree wafts through the house.

It wasn’t of course without its problems because it was bigger than it looked in the field and took quite a while for us to get into the house without knocking down a light fitting or two. Then the job of balancing and anchoring it well enough in our brass bucket to prevent it falling on some small person who may happen to tug at a glistening bell or bauble was quite a effort..

After we were satisfied with the tree, Teddy realized his wallet was missing and we spent about sixteen frustrating hours trying to find where he had dropped it. I didn’t panic as you may think I might because after all these years I’m usually certain he will have lost whatever it is we are searching for in some obscure place around the house or car. This was in the car, wedged between the seat and the door strut. ‘But I looked in the car!’ He wailed. Men do that when you find things they can’t.

As I sat in the shopping mall last week eating a rather unremarkable lunch, I was able to peer over the railing of the mezzanine floor and watch the store Santa Clause where he was trapped behind a fence with two elves and a long line of waiting mothers with children.

Even from where I watched I could see the perspiration glistening on his forehead as the hot lights shone down on his red cap. He waited for each child to come to him with enormous equanimity. Some of the children who had a great deal to say for themselves before they reached him were suddenly overcome with shyness as they approached the man in red who might, or might not, grant their most heartfelt wishes.

Others became loud and cheeky when mothers who thought their child had taken up enough of Santa’s time tried to intervene and drag them away.

One little sweetly faced thing jumped on Santa’s toes in her frustration and when told not to do it again by her embarrassed mother defiantly repeated her act, only I think she jumped even harder the second time.

I would have been happy to empty my unappetising meal over her head if I thought my aim was good enough, but refrained.

Those poor Santa’s not only have to look ridiculous and feel unbearably hot but probably have the hardest of clients anyone has to deal with.

The amount of food piled high precariously wobbling about in overfilled shopping trolleys makes one wonder if everyone is feeding the five thousand or if the population is expecting a famine next year.

When we were younger, the shops closed for a few days and we used to stock up quite a lot, but they hardly close at all now, so I really don’t see the need to buy so much.

I miss a great deal of the old traditional Christmas’s we had as children. It was simpler, not as commercial, but still seemed to hold such a lot of magic for us.

I think I see some of that magic reflected in our grandchildren’s faces when they go out in the evenings to see the houses decorated with lights and storybook characters. Perhaps one day our little ones will look back on their Christmas’s with nostalgia and say as we do ‘it’s not like in our day’.

My Christmas’s as a child always revolved around the church services, bell ringing and having to listen to the same sermon at least twice. But I loved the music and the thrill of waiting for the sixpences in the puddings and perhaps a sip of sherry from my father’s glass as he napped on the couch after his heavy dinner.

One of my favourite memories is the year there was panic in the Vicarage when the organist felt a peddle of the harmonium organ give way as she pumped away energetically during the choir’s last practice before the big day.

This was a disaster. Without the organ the Christmas services would be lacking the music everyone enjoyed so much and in truth needed to help them carry the tunes. It was a large country parish and the people sang with great gusto, some with very little variation in their notes. The wheezy instrument definitely helped to smooth over the affect.

My Dad spent hours the day before Christmas day with it in pieces all over the church floor and my mother popping in every now and then to unhelpfully wring her hands, remind him of the time and tell him he would have to have it fixed soon.

Eventually after having removed a couple of dead and desiccated mice (obviously the story of church mice is true) and a dustpan full of assorted moths and spiders, he was left with three screws he couldn’t find places for but the strap was replaced with some webbing and all was well with the bellows for the midnight and Christmas Day services to go ahead as usual.

This year Teddy and I will enjoy Christmas Eve with our younger son and his wife who live along the coast a few miles from us. I was delegated the task of making the pudding and sauces and custards for that get-together. ( Gluten free of course.)

On Christmas Day we shall have another meal with our older son his wife and children, Monica our daughter and her husband and family, salads and ice-cream cake for me to prepare for that day. (Vegetarian and egg free of course for these members of the family.)

Naturally Aunt Alice and Uncle Rodger will be there. They have already enjoyed numerous Christmas lunches put on for the old folk by community groups. He has been busy in the workshop of the retirement village making a little wheelbarrow for me to put a pot plant into and is from all accounts bursting with pleasure with his efforts. I have already purchased a small gardenia to put in it.

I expect he will bring his own cutlery as usual and Aunt Alice will advise anyone within close proximity of the stove how everything should be done.

You will observe from the above, cooking for the family presents its problems.

In other words Christmas will be much the same as last year.

Boxing Day we shall be exhausted and hope to deflate in our chairs to watch the Boxing Day test match…after we have celebrated our son-in-law’s birthday.

Then we do it all again for New Year.

Teddy and I wish you, and all you contact through your programme and in other ways, a time of peace and love and a renewal of our faith in one another.

Kindest wishes and regards, your ‘flower child friend’

Cynthia.

Letter From The Other Side from Cynthia.

Dear Del,

We have begun the downhill run to Christmas. I can feel the pace of social obligations speeding up and the need to find my Christmas card list from last year etc.

This year’s cards from the Lost Dogs Home are lovely as are the ones we buy from the Moon Bear rescue association so I have no excuse but to make myself sit down and begin to write in them.

Birds seem to have featured in our activities this week.

Last week we enjoyed a pre-Christmas lunch with a woman we have known ever since our swinging years. She swung far harder and in more psychedelic ways than we ever did and lived the life of a free spirit for years painting and posing as an artist’s model for many of them. For the last decade she has been one of the artists who exhibit at Monica’s gallery.

She is a little eccentric, but then most of us appear that way to others don’t we? Especially as we age and our quirky habits which were once subdued come more to the fore as we cast off some of our inhibitions.

Joy painted traditional landscapes or portraits for a long time. As a younger woman, she was a tall, willowy, titian haired beauty who just needed to touch the arm of a potential buyer with the tips of her elegant fingers and his wallet or cheque book would magically appear from his pocket.

Please don’t misunderstand me, she is an excellent painter and has won many art show competitions and awards and has been successful enough with her work to have been a professional artist all her life.

Sadly as taste in art changed, the money began to slow down for traditional art and she turned to painting abstract and modern work.

Now, in her semi retirement she has returned to painting nature studies, life drawings-nudes-, and wildlife as well as teaching.

While travelling to a town not far away from her home, she noticed a dead magpie beside the road. It had not been long since the poor creature had been hit by a passing car so she stopped to pick it up and placed it carefully on a towel on the back seat of her car. It would help her with a watercolour bird study she was intending to paint.

When she arrived home she took the feathered carcass inside, wrapped it carefully in plastic film wrap and placed it on a plate in her fridge to keep fresh for the following day when she could take it out to begin painting.

Her family were due to arrive for a meal that evening so she washed her hands and began preparing a fresh salad. Her daughter and the children walked in while she was doing this and after the greetings etc asked what they were going to have with the salad.

“Oh I have a cold chicken in fridge’; she answered absentmindedly forgetting to warn them about the wrapped magpie. ‘Would you take it out please?’

The resulting screams of ‘Yuck…Yuck!!!’ which came from her family gave her such a start.

As she told us about her memory slip, she was quite mortified the grand-children not only thought she was of the belief the magpie was a chicken but that she had also forgotten she had the tiny carcass of a fairy wren on a saucer in there as well.

She laughed and her eyes shone with all their old mischief as she told us her tale and wondered what they would have thought if they had come the day earlier and met and seen the young, muscular man who had been posing languorously on her living room couch for her small life drawing class.

Sometimes, those closest to us don’t really know us very well do they Del?

The other bird I shall call the one who flew over the handlebars.

As you know Teddy enjoys riding his bike and when not accompanied by someone as fit as he is will venture far and wide around the countryside on the various bike trails.

Last week he left home with the intention of travelling about thirty kilometres to the peninsular. The trail follows the old rail route and at this stage still has a gravel surface.

He returned home earlier than I had expected with blood down his legs and one arm and small bits of skin hanging off, a broken watch, dented helmet and bruised ribs.

He said that when he was about two thirds of the way along, as he passed one of the golf courses, he rested back on the seat and relaxed wondering if he could ride without his hands on the handlebars.

As he flew over the handlebars after his front wheel hit a big stone, he knew he couldn’t.

Then while he lay dazed and wondering how badly he was hurt he found he was under attack. A pair of wattle birds were concerned Teddy was a threat to their chick which was foraging about in the long grass not far from him. The adults bombarded him for some time while he gradually regained his senses and feet and prepared to set off once more on the bicycle. A golfer who must have witnessed his downfall and not bothered to come and help but was leaning against the wire strand fence said unsympathetically.

‘You’ve made a mess of yourself haven’t you mate? Should take up golf, it’s safer.’

Teddy has been a little quiet these last few days because his ribs are too painful to indulge in any heavy breathing, laughing, choking on food etc.

Many times over the years I have asked him not to ride to places I can’t get the car into to rescue him, but I doubt he will change the habits of a lifetime. It may be too much of a shock for me if he did.

I must return to writing my Christmas cards also, there is another bird I have to think about which will be waiting at the butcher’s shop for me.

Your reluctantly festive ‘flower child’ friend’

Cynthia.

Letter From The Other Side from Cynthia


Dear Del,
I suppose you have been wondering why there hasn’t been any letters land into your mail box for the last week or so. It isn’t because I haven’t been trying to write to you it is the fault of my temperamental office equipment.

We bought a new computer and our printer which has always been inclined to sniff at any changes made to its connections or neighbouring machines has absolutely refused to co-operate with the new member of our team.

Eventually after turning everything off, unplugging all connections, trying again and again and ruining endless pieces of paper, I unplugged the dratted machine and took it to the computer psychologist who usually deals with our household’s electronic tantrums.
After driving quite a long way to his premises I was thoroughly miffed to find a note on his door saying he was away from the office.

Teddy lugged the printer back to the car and we drove home, re-plugged it all again and wonder of wonders it worked! Evidently when it plays up again it means it is simply feeling neglected and in need of a ride in the car, a little cosseting and a change of scenery. I suppose it is a cheap way to ensure it keeps working.

As you know Teddy is very fond of gadgets, so when we were looking to buy another car a few weeks ago he was is in element. The economic downturn has resulted in some very good bargains for sale and each car sales business has extra inducements to offer the potential purchaser.

We settled on a new all wheel drive after the salesman offered a choice of a coffee machine, some other thing I can’t remember or was remotely interested in having, or an electronic games machine. You know the type with interactive games like tennis, golf, ten pin bowling etc. The mere whiff of getting his hands on one of these toys lit Teddy’s eyes like beacons and he could hardly wait to sign the papers to make it his own.

He did have to wait quite some time as we needed a couple of extras added to the vehicle such as a tow bar and a barrier to keep the dogs safer in the back. This seemed a simple request but the level of communication between the workforce and salespeople of the business had some major gaps in it which meant we waited a couple of weeks for everything to be completed and for the car and the precious Wii to arrive.

At first as we unpacked it and Teddy set it up on our television I wondered why there were instructions for the operator to strap the handpiece to his or her wrist.

It didn’t take me long to find out and why these things are being purchased all over the country for the residents of retirement villages and such.

The ever present competitive streak came to the fore while we played and I realised as Teddy flung himself into serving at tennis or batting at cricket that he was a threat to our crystal cabinets and their contents plus the large windows we have throughout the house.

At my insistence the Wii was moved to the family room television where the furniture is sturdier and more able to deal with visiting grandchildren and over enthusiastic grandfathers. As yet, the grandchildren haven’t had much of a chance to play with it as Teddy spends too much time demonstrating his skills to them. He has also bored a few friends who aren’t interested in computers almost to tears. I suspect they will have the sense to stay away for a few weeks until the novelty wears off or perhaps suggest meeting in public places away from his latest toy.

It has been quiet for the past couple of days because he played golf for such an extended time he is too stiff to move very much. This is now my chance to try out the balance and fitness disk I bought.

It dented my enthusiasm somewhat when I had to face the awful truth after my weight and height was taken and the rude thing told me in its childish computerised voice my fitness level was that of a woman ten years my senior.

I intend to get the damn thing to apologize during the next few weeks.

They are great fun and during the very hot days when we can’t possibly venture outside it is a good way to waste a couple of hours and keep us from the ever present urge to nod off on the couch.

Did I tell you he has requested a telescope for Christmas? I shall have to warn our friends and family. I told him I wasn’t buying the Hubble so at least we have established that fact.

Love from your gadget controlled

‘flower child friend’ Cynthia.

Letter From The Other Side by Cynthia.

Dear Del,

The last letter I wrote about the Melbourne Cup reminded me of other race meetings Teddy and I have attended.

Usually they have been country meetings, all very informal and relaxed affairs.

However when we visited Teddy’s parents in England for the first time in 1977 we decided to attend the Derby Day races at Epsom.

I wanted to have a day out and as it was a race meeting I could at least look forward to enjoying the sight of some open space, however small it may be.

I think I was feeling a little hemmed in at the time by the close proximity of housing and narrow British roads which made me feel claustrophobic.

Teddy wore a new pair of trousers, a fashionable pair of brown checked flairs. Remember the type? When my father-in-law looked him up and down, quite an effort for him as he was a very short man; he remarked candidly that Teddy would feel at home at the track as his trousers made him look like a bookie.

Teddy ignored him. His father was prone to making personal remarks to most people.

It was a warm day by English weather standards and I chose an outfit from the predominantly casual clothes I had packed to take with me. I hoped the dress wouldn’t make me look too much like ‘Tilly from the bush’ as my mother was heard to say about rather frumpily and unfashionably dressed women.

From memory, getting to Epsom was easy and by the time we arrived, there was already a very large crowd milling about and enjoying the sunshine.

As happens at the Melbourne Cup, the crowd was segregated by the capacity of an individual’s wallet. Probably, since we were in England, blood lines played as much role with the people as they did with the horses in the enclosure.

Either way, we joined the ‘plebs’ around the track.

Our view was limited particularly for me but we could occasionally hear the thundering of the horses as they flew past our area and the cheering from the stands when the race had finished. We had very little idea of the outcome of any of the races and could never hear what was being announced.

Sometimes a kind person would shout the name of the winner for everyone around us to hear.

I think I spent most of my time not having a clue of what was happening on the track but listening and observing the English having a good time in their natural habitat.

Because of the pressing crowd and warm day we consumed quite a lot of cool drinks and inevitably I began to search for the ladies conveniences.

The only ones I could see available were of the type our tradesmen call ‘thunderboxes’. You know those metal portable loos you see standing in a remote cleared area on building sites, looking all alone, rather lost and rejected like a metal mock-up of a Dr Who’s Tardus.

Well, when one is in need they are better than nothing.

Perhaps the organisers had expected a blizzard because there were only eight to ten of these boxes supplied for the enormous crowd around the rails.

Someone had seriously underestimated in the equipment hiring department because the queue waiting to use them was so long that one of the women who saw me looking toward the distant tail-end said as I gasped in wonder at the length. ‘Stand in line love, because if you don’t want to go when you start waiting, you will by the time you get to the front.’

The murmurings of agreement, discomfort and discontent were loud and colourful as we slowly shuffled forward unsuccessfully trying to keep our minds off the reason we were standing in line.

Some ladies were feeling extremely distressed and the comments became insulting about the male dominated lack of organizational skills which must have been responsible for the ever growing snake of aggrieved women.

Eventually, a marvellous woman a few yards ahead of me stepped out of line. She wore a beautifully cut beige linen suit, a fine broad brimmed expensively trimmed hat, lovely shoes and carried a matching leather bag.

“I’m absolutely fed up with this!’ She said loudly in a voice rich with the vowels and diction of the Home Counties type under extreme stress.

“I am fed up. I will not and cannot wait any longer.’

She walked across to the lines of parked cars, raised her skirt, and with a degree of modesty and aplomb I still admire, sat on the bumper bar of a highly polished four wheel drive and relieved herself.

We all clapped as she straightened her skirt, readjusted her hat, sighed with relief after waving to her admiring audience and disappeared back into the crowd. Many of us followed her example and the queue shortened considerably.

Amazing the things which can become the highlight of an outing isn’t it Del?

I believe a horse named The Minstrel ridden by the famous Lester Piggot won the Derby that year but that woman made my day.

I hope your horse won last Tuesday at the Melbourne Cup Del. Mine strolled along in the middle of the pack enjoying the scenery and admiring the legs of the filly in front.

From your slightly poorer ‘flower child’ friend

Cynthia.

Letter From The Other Side, from Cynthia.
The Melbourne Cup.

Dear Del,
The football finals are finished thank goodness.

Our team won the premiership but of course that won’t stop the Melbourne news reporters from referring to our town as Sleepy Hollow which is wearing a little thin with many of us.
Now of course we are into spring and all the beautiful people emerge from their winter chrysalises for the racing carnival.

Outfits with idiotic confections of lace and feathers sit on heads which have been stewed in new expensive marinades of face creams and hair colourings. Lips and facial lines are plumped with Botox or else have been under wrapping for a few weeks following rearrangements by plastic surgeons. This has sometimes caused trouble in households where the children begin to look older than the parents and daughters in their mid thirty’s refuse to be seen with mother’s who appear to be younger friends……the family resemblance having been erased years before..
Even the shoes with heals high enough to stake the standard roses which grow around the race track will have cost as much as it would be to finance the feeding of a village in a third world country for a decade.

Many of the people both male and female would do just as well with a sign saying ‘Look at me”. It would probably be just as attractive as the outrageous costumes and far cheaper.
The rest of the population look on with a peculiar mix of disdain, amusement and envy.
The whole carnival culminates on the first Tuesday of November with the running of the Melbourne Cup which is quite rightly called ‘the race that stops a nation’.

There is an old saying that Australians will bet on two flies walking up a wall even if one of them is dead.

For this one race of the year we all become instant racing experts and almost every person in the country, with exception of the few who are in a coma, will have a bet or be in a sweep. Probably some of the relatives of those who are too ill or infirm will put a bet on for them.
All offices, schools, nursing homes, factories or groups of friends will organise sweepstakes.
At the time of the race most work stops and the road traffic becomes grindingly slow as people listening to car radios can be seen thumping their steering wheels while momentarily forgetting what they are supposed to be doing. Pedestrians pathways are deserted as everyone dives into the nearest electrical goods store to watch their chosen nag on television.

Specials trains and transport to take the thousands to the race are arranged. The police and governments love it because of the extra tax raised and also because of the revenue raised by the speed cameras as the people rush to get a park and are later caught again by breathalysers. The state government coffers get a tremendous boost from our collective addiction to gambling.
Melbourne has unusual weather patterns and is able to produce four seasons in a day. The locals arrive with extra jackets and umbrellas. Some years everyone swelters, others they are drenched. Often the sea breeze strengthens to a cold gale and inflicts the unprepared with a severe case of goose-bumps and skin which looks like a plucked chicken.

The television news will show the same glamorous people returning home at the end of the day.

By the early evening the well groomed, sleek and dapper will be dishevelled, windblown, walking unsteadily or unable to stay upright and will be lying asleep on the picnic rugs or grass, minus their shoes and much of the money which had been in their wallets.

Around them the immaculately groomed grass and grounds will be covered with rubbish which will take a small army to clean and clear away in time for the Oaks Day crowd who are, from what I’ve heard, a very much better behaved and refined group. One may even spot a few top hats amongst the men which I feel is rather a tedious affectation but I suppose no worse than women wearing the ridiculous hats this year’s fashion dictates. They all seem to be falling off one side of the wearer’s head and my fingers itch to straighten them before they land and get trodden on.

Those able to still rearrange their mouths sufficiently to speak will assure anyone who asks that they had a wonderful time and will do it all again next year.

Bart Cummings, one of our leading trainers, was asked this year if at the age of eighty two he thought he may be getting a little old to train another winner this year. He looked at the brave reporter briefly and said ‘Why? I haven’t told the horse how old I am so he isn’t worried about it, why should I?’

Good on you Bart, I’ll be backing your horse again this year, I like the colours he wears and his number is lucky for me, what was his name again? You see, I know my horses just as well as anyone Del.

I hope your horse comes in Del, from your old filly friend,

Cynthia

Letter From The Other Side From Cynthia. Part 2.
Written by Elizabeth. M. Thompson

Dear Del,

Last time I wrote I told you of the day Aunt Alice and Uncle Rodger managed to be the catalysts for a dreadful outing with Monica and Tony.

I finished that letter just as Rodney their cousin had arrived in his tractor and pulled Tony’s brand new car out of the washed away crossing over a creek.

Monica, soaked to the skin and minus her shoes, an equally wet and bedraggled and muddy Uncle Rodger and a perfectly dry but irritating Aunt Alice were sitting in Rebecca’s( Rodney’s wife) old station wagon watching the broken and mangled car draining onto the road while Tiberius her Labrador dog frolicked happily in the creek.

“We’ll have to get a hired car to take us home.” Monica sighed. “That’s going to cost a fortune. Goodness knows when our car will be repaired.”

Looking down at her best coat and black dress she was so fond of, she mumbled, “Not to mention replacing our clothes.” Luckily she and Rebecca were much the same size. She would need to borrow something to wear home.

“Come along Tiberius.” Rebecca called to the dog still barking at a pair of nesting ducks he had disturbed. Tiberius reluctantly left the water and stood shaking the excess from his long coat. Great sprays flew in an arc around him.

Feeling thoroughly refreshed he raced for the car and before Monica could stop him he leapt in beside her depositing mud, grit and more water all over her already ruined clothes.

“Get out you smelly dog!” Aunt Alice commanded.

Tiberius not used to being yelled at looked at Aunt Alice with surprise and wagged his tail in a peace gesture.

“Out!” The old lady commanded again.

Appearing thoroughly confused Tiberius turned to Monica in dismay and swept his wet tongue up her cheek, hoping she would be friendlier.

“Oh you naughty boy Tiberius.” Rebecca chastised him indulgently. “I’m sorry Monica. He knows he should be in the back of the station wagon but he just loves to sit near people. Come on boy.” she called from the rear of the car and the dog jumped across Monica leaving another splatter of mud behind.

Aunt Alice had survived again without getting wet. Monica felt so bedraggled she gave up trying to clean herself and stifled a sob.

“Smelly dog he stinks the car out!” Aunt Alice complained.

Tony and Rodney, who had watched the dog’s antics, both guffawed at her remark. They had been subjected to many long descriptions of their aunt’s digestive problems and suffered it’s consequences in confined spaces, such as cars.

Rebecca who doted on her dog and found his companionship preferable to many people revved the car and drove off quickly thumping the car along the road and adding to everyone’s discomfort.

“Smelly indeed.” she muttered.

Uncle Rodger had nodded off and not noticed the comings and goings of Tiberius. He woke as they lurched along and was soon taking an interest in Rebecca’s driving.


Thinking the old people would enjoy meeting up with some friends their own age, Rebecca and thoughtfully invited some old friends and the Vicar to have lunch with them.

The small group were waiting out on the veranda of the homestead to meet the sorry looking passengers as they trudged up the steps.

“Oh my goodness, you’re a mess!” wailed one old lady in sympathy.

“Come in quickly and we’ll find you some dry clothes.” Rebecca patted Monica’s damp shoulder.

“I don’t need dry clothes.” Aunt Alice pointed out. “I knew to stay in the car and wait. I’m a country woman, I know what to do.”

“If I hear her say that one more time I’ll push her in the water myself.” Monica
complained through clenched teeth.

Uncle Rodger’s mud stained slacks clung to his thin legs and Rebecca suggested he have a shower. “That would be very nice Rebecca but I just don’t think I’m up to it. I’ll wash myself as best I can and just put a pair of Rodney’s trousers on.”

Rebecca wasn’t sure this was a good idea and wondered if Rodney had any trousers which could possible fit the old gentleman’s girth.

“Those pants are wash-n-wear pants. “Aunt Alice pointed out. “Just put them through the machine and dryer and they’ll be fine.”

“Oh good, I’ll just get you a dressing gown for now Uncle Rodger.”

“Humph. I suppose you’ll try and show your legs off to everyone now!” Aunt Alice glared at her bedraggled husband. “I’m going to get a cup of tea. I’m worn out from it all!”

After half an hour, Monica’s composure was restored a little. At least she was now dry, warm and clean.

When she entered the living room, Uncle Rodger was regaling the others about the day’s events and planting the blame for the wrong turning and driving through the water firmly on Tony’s shoulders. Aunt Alice who was sipping her tea obviously did not consider it worth contradicting him although she frequently told him to “put your knees together Rodger!”

“Silly young man.” someone muttered

“Yes, with two frail elderly people like that in the car it was a terrible risk to take.” said another.

“Yes.” agreed a third. “Anything might have happened, most unsuitable.”

Monica seethed with indignation, as Rebecca caught her eye and smiled sympathetically.

Eventually Tony and Rodney arrived back at the farm after watching the forlorn sight of the new car being taken along the rutted road on the back of the battered tow truck, water still dribbling from its interior.

“Go and have a shower and change into some of Rodney’s things you’ll feel a bit better.” Monica promised her hollowed eyed husband. “I’ll ask Rebecca if she has anything to put on your chin. It looks like you’ve done ten rounds with Kostya Tszyu instead of slamming it down on the car door.’

“He looks a bit drained and wrung out doesn’t he?” Rebecca whispered in her ear.

“Shh.” Monica muttered “It’s not funny”

“I know, I just couldn’t resist saying it. I’ve been living with Rodney too long.”

Tony disappeared into the bathroom to wash and change. He was too tired and upset to get angry with the girls at the moment.

He emerged afterward looking ridiculous in a plaid shirt about three sizes too large and a pair of jeans gathered around his waist with their long legs flapping like a demented seal’s flippers around his ankles and walked into the dining room in time to hear Uncle Rodger saying “Of course we knew it was the wrong road before he even turned into it.”

His jaw dropped as anger welled up again and in order to prevent himself from grabbing his uncle by the silly lapels of Rodney’s dressing gown he left the room to phone the car hire firm.

When at last he could bring himself to re-enter the dining room, he realized how hungry he was as Monica placed a plate of steak and vegetables in front of him.

The Vicar, who was amongst the guests, was surreptitiously feeding Tiberius with titbits from the table.

“You know that’s a bad habit to get that dog into Vicar don’t you?” Aunt Alice admonished him.
“Yes Alice, I’m aware of that but he’s such a lovely animal.’

“You get on well with dogs don’t you Vicar?” The lady in pink sitting on Tony’s left, remarked.

“I expect it’s because they both wear collars.” Rodney, who was topping up his alcohol consumption giggled into his glass.

The Vicar smiled. “Could be something like that Rodney.” Tiberius wagged his damp tail in expectation of more food.

Tony was feeling a little better, he was the last to be served with his lunch and cut into his steak trying to do justice to Rebecca’s cooking efforts.

Earlier he had heard her banging about in the kitchen crashing pots and drawers which he knew was a universal sign of the lady of the house being upset. He saw why when he glanced across at uncle Rodger who was cutting up his steak with a steak knife he had brought with him, a sure sign he had expected Rebecca to serve him a steak far too tough for his liking. No wonder she felt insulted and was taking it out on her kitchen fittings. He sighed, what more did this day from hell have in store for them?

The Vicar, aware of Tony and Monica’s plight in dealing with their difficult relatives, smile encouragingly at him and shrugged as if to say ‘go with the flow the day will end eventually. Aloud he said quietly ‘Life can be rather like Alice in Wonderland’s tea party some days can’t it?’

When Tony had phoned for a rental car he had heard the familiar drawl of the tow truck driver answer the phone. After a lot of unsuccessful pleading, the only car that was available for him to use for the return trip home was a small 1.6 litre model. That meant problems for everyone who travelled in it.

Monica groaned when he told her, but agreed the sooner they left for home the better. She wanted desperately to be in her own place and Tony wanted to get away from the crazy people.
“Do you think we could leave Uncle Rodger and Aunt Alice here with Rebecca and Rodney for the week?” he asked. “I really don’t think I can take two hours of them in the back of the small car so close to my ears and nose.”

“Oh Tony, just try and be quiet until we get home.” Monica pleaded. “Go and have another beer with Rodney and something more to eat.”

“I’m not sitting with them at that table any longer.”


Uncle Rodger had finished his large meal and now began to look at his watch. “You know if we don’t get going we’ll be late back to the Village and they’ll have a search party out for us.”

“Here are your clothes Uncle Rodger, all clean and dried.” Rebecca saved Tony from having to reply to the old man.

“Oh !Good girl. It’s as well someone knows what their doing around here.” Aunt Alice smiled. “Nothing like a country girl is there?” she asked of no one in particular as Monica hurriedly left the room.

“That mud was worse than New Guinea on the Kokoda Trail.” Uncle Rodger always one to exaggerate, was pleased with the new line he had thought up for when he returned to the Village.

“You were never in New Guinea.” Henry one of the men present sprayed crumbs from his last helping of trifle as he spoke.

“I’m a returned soldier!”

“You might be, but you were never in New Guinea. ‘Gawd Rodger you’ve always been such a blow-hard of a bloke. Never could resist big-noting yourself.”

“Don’t you speak to him like that Henry?” Aunt Alice jumped to her husband’s defence, “and look at you, always last to leave after you’ve scoffed everything in sight!”

“Huh! Right then…. I know when to leave all right woman! I’ll go right now and good riddance to you both. It’s a shame that creek wasn’t flowing harder and you didn’t go down it without a paddle!” He stood unsteadily, took up his hat and coat from a chair and walked in his marionette waddle, out the door.

“Aunt Alice. Please.” Rebecca pleaded. “You’ve upset Henry.”

“Hmph. No one cares that he upset me.” she snorted. “Oh. You have ants on your floor.”

“I what?” Rebecca rushed to look at the floor where Aunt Alice was pointing. She looked about everywhere. “There aren’t any ants there Aunt Alice.”

“Well I can see them. See! That’s what you get for allowing me to get upset. I’ve started to see them here now.”

“Oh dear.” Uncle Rodger groaned.

“What’s the problem?” The Vicar asked.

“The doctor has told her she has been seeing what looks like ants because she has a problem with her eyes in some lights, but she says it is stress.” Uncle Rodger explained raising an eyebrow significantly.

“What on earth has stressed her to such levels?” The Vicar enquired.

“It’s Rodger’s fault.” she shook her head angrily “he cares more for everyone else than he does for me.”
“And do you believe the ants are really there, or do you know that it is an hallucination?” The Vicar found this an interesting subject and not one that was unfamiliar to him.

“Of course I know they aren’t there.” she answered curtly.

“And you believe that Rodger, who has been married to you for let’s see now, fifty years, cares more about other people than you?”

Aunt Alice didn’t answer the Vicar.

Everyone waited as they watched the Vicar slowly turn the problem over in his mind.

Rodney who was about to open his mouth to say something about getting some insecticide spray, saw the look on Rebecca’s face and closed his lips.

“You know Rebecca had to restrain Rodger from going back into the water to rescue you don’t you Alice?” the Vicar asked.

“She did?”

“Yes.” the Vicar allowed himself a little bit of license with the truth. “She had to fight him back and force him to sit in the car while Rodney went for you. Rodger was furious with her for doing it. Weren’t you Rodger?”

“Well I never!” the old lady looked across at her husband.

Rodger sat still, looking at the Vicar with eyes which held almost as much affection as Tiberius before his food was put in front of him. He decided the Vicar was a splendid man.

“My dear,” Rodger turned and placed a hand on his wife’s arm. “You have no fear of my not caring for you.”

“Well.” She said still trying to make him realize the lengths to which his behaviour had driven her. “I had a good mind to leave you last week.”

“The waiting list for another unit would be very long Aunty Alice. I doubt that you could arrange one in time……..” Tony blurted as Monica hit him on the arm “before you die.” he finished in a whisper.

Rebecca found she had a need to go into the kitchen and Rodney choked on his beer.

“I think you would find leaving me a very complicated and difficult problem Alice.” Rodger replied quietly “I think perhaps you had better think it over for a while.”

The Vicar smiled. “Yes, give it a little bit of extra thought.” he agreed as he stroked Tiberius’s head.

The little lady in pink had been listening and watching impassively now spoke up during a moment of silence. “Henry was meant to drive me home. Now who’s going to drive me home?” she blinked at everyone.

Rodney got to his feet slowly. “I’ll drive you Maddy. It’s just up the road.’ he winked at Tony. “Nothing like a country man is there mate?’ he whispered.

The tow truck driver was a mate of Rodney’s and knowing the situation that led to the day’s events was happy to drive the rental vehicle out the few kilometres from town to the farm.
He had been thoughtful enough to bring anything that hadn’t been ruined by water from Tony’s car including the walking frame and the rugs.

“Uncle Rodger would you and Aunty Alice swap sides going home?” Monica asked.

Rodger looked at her in consternation. “But that isn’t my usual side.”

“I know but it’s such a small car if you sit behind Tony he will be very cramped in the front.”

“Oh well, he should have thought of that dear, before he drove into the water.” Aunt Alice chided her. “As it is we aren’t going to be very comfortable anyway.”

“FORGET IT!” stormed Tony “I just want to get home.”

With enormous huffs and puffs Uncle Rodger heaved and squashed himself into the small seat. “It’s not very comfortable Tony.” he complained.

“Well I’ll be driving with my knees around my ears. So that’s not going to be very comfortable either.” snapped Tony.

“Oh he is a bad tempered fellow some days.” Aunt Alice shook her head “Not like Rodney. Nothing is too much trouble for him.”

‘Let me drive.” Monica suggested. “That way you can have the seat back further because you’ll be sitting in front of Aunt Alice.”

“No. Oh No!” Tony shook his head adamantly. “I’ve lost my new car, because of them. They don’t seem to understand the car will probably be a write-off and we shall have to get another one. Not once have they had the decency to take any of the blame for the debacle. I’ve had enough for one day, in fact for much, much longer than a day; I’ve almost knocked myself out and look like some sort of brawling lout. I’m damned if I’m giving up the chance to drive them home.” He pressed his lips together hard and before Monica could call ‘goodbye’ to the smirking group gathered to say farewell, he planted his foot firmly toward the floor of the car and they shot down the drive to the highway.

“I know what your doing Tony,” Monica muttered as her head bounced close to the roof of the car yet again.

“Do you?” he asked innocently as he steered the car straight for the largest pothole he could see in the road ahead. “What am I doing dear?” they bounced again.

“I don’t blame you Tony, but we have to get home in one piece you know.”

“Really? Ah there’s a good one.” he aimed at a particularly deep rut.

Monica sighed. They were nearly at the end of the farm driveway. The turn-off onto the highway wasn’t too far away.

Uncle Rodger thumping about in the rear called loudly in Tony’s ear “You seem to be hitting every hole in the road Tony.”

“Oh I’ve managed to miss a few Uncle Rodger.” He replied grimly aiming for another one.

“We’re coming up to the turn-off soon you know?” The old man leaning forward almost banged his head against Tony.

As they slowed, Tony turned to Monica saying. “I’m going to squeeze some sort of enjoyment out of today. That was a stimulating little bit wasn’t it?”

Monica glared at him.

Aunt Alice travelled in silence grimly hanging on to the door grip, her knuckles white.

“I’m going to have to stop for something to eat at one of the fast food places before we get home.” Tony announced.

“You hate fast food.”

“Well I’m starving.”

“But I gave you a big plate of food.” Monica bounced again.

“Yes that’s true and although it was very tender and enjoyable, I missed out on trifle because Henry ate it all so I’m still hungry.’

Aunt Alice who had heard his comments replied “Oh it’s probably all the fresh air you’ve had today, you aren’t used to clean country air and Henry like so many older people has lost many of his socialising skills and manners.’

Tony’s knuckles turned white as he valiantly refrained from replying to his aunt while Monica groaned and opened the window for some additional fresh ‘country’ air.

There I shall leave them for today Del because the family melodrama, in the tradition of the theatre, has a final act to be played out.

From your quite exhausted ‘flower child’ friend,
Cynthia.

Letter From The Other Side by Cynthia Part 3

Dear Del,

You will remember I finished my last letter at the stage when Monica and Tony had left the farm after a disastrous day during which their car ended up in a creek. Aunt Alice had been seeing ants if upset, and Tony was ready to wring her neck.

They were driving in a small hired vehicle.

About three quarters of an hour later, the four travellers grunted and groaned as they tried to straighten their cramped limbs getting out of the car. Uncle Rodger supported by his frame and glad of the stop, headed for the ‘gentleman’s conveniences’. After inspecting the facilities and chatting to a few fellow travellers he returned to the restaurant.

He stood looking about him as they waited in a line to give their orders. ‘Never been in one of these places before.’ He conceded.

‘That’s because you say they charge like wounded bulls.’ Aunt Alice reminded him. ‘Though how you’d know having never been in one I don’t know. I only want a cup of tea anyway, so I’ll go and sit down, you can carry mine over.’ She walked supported by her cane, her head held in a haughty manner toward a table. She bent to dust the seat carefully with her handkerchief which she took from her coat pocket, checked the cleanliness of the plastic table top while muttering about the lack of decent table cloths in eating establishments these days and sat down ready to be waited upon.

A spotty youth asked Uncle Rodger for his order. ‘Well what have your got?’ he asked innocently.

The youth pointed upwards at all the colourful displays along the boards over his head.

‘What are they? Eh?’ he questioned, indicating by putting his hand behind his ear that he couldn’t hear. ‘It’s so noisy in here I can’t hear what your saying.’

The young man repeated all the foods available.

‘What no roast beef?’

The young man’s composure showed its first crack. ‘We don’t have roasts.’ his smile faded.
‘No roast beef! Well I never.’ Uncle Rodger was mystified. ‘What sort of place was this?’

Slowly he took his glasses from his pocket, undid the case and put them on. He stood back and peered up at the various menus above him. The queue lengthened by the second as new people arrived from the highway for a fast meal and quick get-away.

With care he laboriously read each board. His confusion increased as he watched others leaving with trays loaded with food.

‘Do you have a Senior’s Specials menu?’

The young man jiggled on his feet and drummed his fingers in a tattoo on the bench top.
“No.”
‘Oh, no Senior’s Specials, dear me.’ he hummed and hawwwed some more
‘Oh that looks nice.’ he pointed at a passing tray ‘I might have some of that. What’s that?’ he queried.

The young man’s smile split his face once again as he explained what had been in the order.

‘Oh onions. No,……… I can’t have onions.’ Uncle Rodger was back to square one.

Tony stood behind him pretending he didn’t know him, enjoying the pleasure of hearing someone else being harassed by his uncle instead of him.

Eventually Monica, unable to cope with the comments of people in the queue, came forward and helped Uncle Rodger choose a piece of pie and a cup of tea. ‘You go and sit down Uncle Rodger I’ll carry the things over to you.’ After all, she had to keep reminding herself of his age.
‘That was mean of you Tony.’ she said as she passed him carrying the tray.

Tony, not feeling so forgiving, ordered a large hamburger with the lot, a piece of pie and two cups of coffee for himself. They could sit and watch him eat.

For the next twenty minutes that is exactly what they did as he slowly and deliberately chewed his way through the food. Occasionally he stopped to make conversation and offered to get more drinks for everyone.

Unfortunately, the mention of onions reminded Uncle Rodger of his last visit to his doctor. He began a word for word replay of the visit for his companions and because of the carrying power of his voice, also the people sitting at the tables surrounding them. Everyone was treated to a vivid and explicit description of Uncle Rodger’s health and the intimate workings of his bowels.

Monica could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks as she watched the giggling and shaking shoulders of the teenagers sitting at a table beside them. She didn’t blame them really but kept wishing the old man would stop.

Eventually they rose to leave and one of the young men winked at her saying. ‘Bit too much detail there at times wasn’t there?’

Aunt Alice had been so quiet during the meal Monica was feeling concerned about her. The day had been disastrous enough to make anyone tired let alone a woman of her aunt’s age. She saw the old lady looking at the floor.

Uncle Rodger running out of medical anecdotes turned to his wife and asked. ‘Why are you looking at the floor? Do you see any ants here?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, but there aren’t quite as many.’

The young waitress wiping a table near them looked up, she had overheard the remark.
‘Are there ants here madam?’

‘Yes .’Aunt Alice replied before Monica could get a word in.

‘Oh my goodness, I’ll go and get the manager.’ she rushed off and disappeared into the depths of the restaurant.

‘No, No!’ Monica called.

Tony put his head in his hands. He could feel the day slipping away from his grasp again.

A short man with a paunch equal or perhaps even larger than Uncle Rodgers walked swiftly across the gleaming floor toward them.

‘I know where he eats all the time.’ Tony muttered as the fellow approached their table.
His smile reached across his flabby face and he rubbed his thick little fingers together. He bent as far as his figure would allow as he quietly asked the group. ‘Is there a problem here? The waitress tells me you have an ant problem.’ He beamed at them as though it was the happiest news he had heard all day.

‘My wife is seeing ants.’ Uncle Rodger explained unhelpfully.

The man’s eyebrows rose above his puffy eyes. ‘Ants! Goodness Madam, where did you see these ants?’

‘There.’ Aunt Alice, pointed at the clean and bare floor tiles.

“Well, there are no ants there now that I can see.” The man walked slowly across the floor examining the details of the tiles he saw every day.

“Well I can see some.”

“No madam you can’t. There are no ants on our floor. I assure you we have the highest standards of cleanliness here. There are definitely no ants on the floor. You are mistaken.”

“Oh Oh.” groaned Uncle Rodger.

“That was the wrong thing to say mate.” Tony smiled, touching his chin carefully.

“How dare you call me a liar, young man!” Aunt Alice was furious. Her little grey head shook with rage.

“I’m not calling you a liar madam I’m simply saying you are mistaken.”

“Well I’m NOT!”

“I really think you should just agree with the lady.” Tony told him. Monica nodded in agreement.

The manager could see that the rest of the patrons and staff were interested in the goings on at the table. The idea suddenly occurred to him that these people were in some sort of conspiracy to defraud him. They were claiming ants and vermin in his restaurant and might be trying to gain legal compensation.

“Madam.” He tried again, took a deep breath and lowering his voice. “You do not see ants!”

“I’m a country woman, I’ll have you know and I know ants when I see them!” Aunt Alice now had the attention of everyone.

Newcomers from the highway wondered what they had walked into. Some suspected there was some sort of crime going on in the place there was so much tension in the air.

“Believe me mate; you’d be better to agree with her.” Tony sighed.

“So. You sir are the brain behind this conspiracy are you?” The manager pointed an accusing finger at Tony.

“What conspiracy?” Tony asked puzzled.

“Yes.” Monica questioned. “What conspiracy?”

“Don’t you try and deny this is some sort of extortion thing you have dreamed up.” The man’s chins wobbled and his cheeks flushed pink. “Brenda! Call the police!”

“What?” everyone chorused?

“I don’t believe this.” Tony stood up. “We’re going.”

“Oh no you’re not!” The manager called for re-enforcements and Tony was flattened by a few over eager teenager’s who had watched too may police movies.

They held him down on the floor while Monica screamed at them to leave him alone and Uncle Rodger and Aunt Alice held hands, cowering together on their chairs. Tony’s right arm was forced painfully up his back and he yelled in agony. “Get off. Get off.” He choked hoarsely. “It’s all a misunderstanding we can explain.”

“You can explain to the police.” The manager feeling forceful and manly, his latent testosterone finding an outlet at last, felt he had handled a potentially catastrophic situation for the company very well. There might even be a promotion in it for him. He patted his paunch lovingly.


The police who had arrived with screaming sirens laconically eyed their potential criminals.
One of them had a glint in his eyes which reminded Tony of Rodney. He looked up from where he still sat on the floor trying to get his arm back into a normal position.

The officer stood allowing his gaze to drift across the group in front of him, calculating the ages of the accused as the manager, his arms waving excitedly, described his extortion theory to him.
The manager claimed the group had tried to extort money from the company and Aunt Alice kept interrupting him by saying she knew what she had seen and knew an ant when she saw it.

Eventually the police spoke to Monica who explained Aunt Alice’s little hallucination problems and the matter was finally cleared up. Tony was released by his teenage captors, brushed down and apologized to and the price of the meals refunded.

Turning to the fat man, Tony poked his ample chest hard and said “I never thought I’d say this to anyone mate. But after the day I’ve had. I’m going to sue you.” He strode from the place with as much dignity as he could. His chin throbbing and his arm refusing to unbend and straiten into a natural position.


The manager watched them make their way slowly out the door wondering what sort of money the company would now have to pay for wrongful accusation and false imprisonment.

The police ambled out to their car muttering and laughing quietly.

The episode gave the rest of the people a good topic to laugh about for the remainder of their trips.

The four were feeling so tired that no- one wanted to speak. Tony helped the old people into the rear seat, his arm paining him as he tried to do the seat belts up.

“Bloody little Rambo’s have hurt my shoulder.” He complained to Monica who was in tears. “I don’t think I have ever been so embarrassed in my life. This is the worst day I have ever had.” She sobbed.

Tony agreed but didn’t say anything more.

“You could have explained much sooner you know Tony.” Aunt Alice said.


“It might have been good if you hadn’t kept insisting the ants were there in the first place.” Tony nearly side-swiped a car as he entered the traffic while looking around into the rear to yell at her.

“Tony, look out! Watch what you’re doing!” Monica screamed.

“Yes Tony. We all want to get home in one piece.” Uncle Rodger mumbled.

Within a short time of leaving the roadhouse debacle, the old people had returned to discussing the family and somehow the subject of a friend’s funeral came up. After a little more discussion Aunt Alice was heard to say, “I’m not going to get buried; I’ve decided I’ll get cremated.”

“Maybe they’ll let me turn the gas on.” Tony muttered.

The conversation slowed and the two old people began to doze.

Monica was still wiping away the occasional tear.

They reached the outskirts of the city and Uncle Rodger woke up enough to give directions to the retirement village. After an hour and feeling as though it had been a year since they had left in the morning they were back.

His arm was aching and his bruised chin throbbed painfully. Tony slowly unwound his legs out of the car and tried to stretch to take the kinks out of his back before he unpacked the old people’s things and took them shuffling along the path to their unit.

‘What a straggling ill-kempt little group we must look.’ Monica thought as she dragged her feet along in Rebecca’s sandals.

As soon as they entered the unit, Aunt Alice pointed at the floor. “They’re gone. Look!”

“What are?” Monica asked wearily.

“The ants they’re gone.”

“That’s good Aunt Alice. I’m glad they’ve gone. What a shame they couldn’t have gone sooner. I’ll come in tomorrow and check on how you’re feeling but I must get home. Get yourself to bed you must be very tired. I know I am.”

The old lady nodded and Monica and Tony left hurriedly.

Goodness knows what they’ll say about us to everyone there.” Monica worried. “They might not let us take them out again if Uncle Rodger keeps stretching the truth the way he does.”

“Let’s hope that’s a definite possibility.” Tony answered.

She didn’t tell him to shut up.



The whole of the following week Monica thought about the dreadful day. It had been a day from hell. The only good thing to come out of it was that Aunty Alice’s ants disappeared.
She realized the Vicar had planted the right thoughts in Aunt Alice’s head and she had settled down enough for the hallucinating to stop. How she could settle after such a day Monica couldn’t understand but ‘the oldies’ didn’t seem to realize the problems she and Tony were having without the car either. They only had her small car to rely on.

She supposed they were losing touch with daily life.

From the kitchen, she could hear Tony on the phone.

He was saying. “You mean I’m not covered? But it wasn’t my fault! Yes, I know I was the driver but the road wasn’t maintained and the passengers assured me it would be alright…..Well thanks for bloody nothing.” He threw his phone onto the couch.

She waited as a wild eyed Tony turned to her. “We aren’t covered by the insurance. They say it was driver error and my decision to drive into the water on a private road. So we don’t get a cent back.”

“How much will it be to fix?” she asked hardly daring to hear the answer.

A few thousand dollars!”

“Oh. No! There goes our holiday.” she gasped.

The phone ringing interrupted them and Monica slowly turned to answer it.

“Hello?..... Yes,….. yes Aunt Alice,……. I’ll tell him but I…..don’t know.” she faltered.

Monica looked at Tony waiting for him to ask what the call was about.

“Well? What was it?” he could see it was something she needed to tell him.

“Uncle Alf died today. The funeral is next week. They want to know if we will take them.”

Tony’s eyes widened. He began to shake. His whole body shook from side to side in his denial.

“Oh NO. Definitely NOT.!. NO!.... NO.!..” Tony bellowed walking out slamming the door.

That Del, was a day I am very glad I wasn’t present, but I’m sure will go down in the family history as the high water mark of the journals which included the Life and Times of Aunt Alice and Uncle Rodger.

I hope you have enjoyed it in the way a person can when it doesn’t happen to them.

Teddy and I will take over duty from now on.

From your ‘flower child friend’ Cynthia.

The Barwon River Geelong.

This is near the walking and cycling track Teddy uses to 'get away from it all.'

Letter From The Other Side No 23 Part 1

Letter From The Other Side by Cynthia.. No 23 Part 1
Written by Elizabeth M. Thompson

Dear Del,
I haven’t been well for a number of days. This meant I have been unable to see Aunt Alice and Uncle Rodger.

Monica being the good girl she is suggested to Tony they take the two old folk out for a drive. Tony had only just bought a new car and was happy to oblige as he had been looking for an excuse to have a good drive in the country to test the car's performance on the open road.

I will tell you the story of the day’s debacle as Monica related it to me mainly because I think the old people have this time surpassed themselves in their ability to ruin any outing the family ever take them on.

They had decided to drive out of the city a few miles and visit a cousin and her husband who live on a cattle farm. The old people were very excited to be able to go and get out into the country where they had spent many years.
Monica and Tony arrived at the village to pick them up quite early. When he arrived Uncle Rodger was standing outside staring at his watch “Come on Tony we’ll be late.’
“What do you mean?” Tony questioned him, ‘We haven’t made any special time to arrive.’
“Yes, it’s not Tony’s fault, I told you to tell them we had phoned and said we would be there for lunch.’ Aunt Alice called from the door.
Tony and Monica exchanged glances as they settled the old people into the rear seat. Having to keep to Uncle Rodger’s timetable was not what they had planned. They knew he would be keen to give directions all the way and had been prepared for that to happen.
Uncle Rodger sat back huffily. “Well she said she would cook us a good big steak farm grown, so I don’t want to be late.’
‘You didn’t think about my teeth by asking for steak did you?” Aunt Alice rebuked him once more.
It was not a good start to the day as they had obviously been nagging one another before being picked up, but Uncle Rodger forgot his bad mood as soon as he was able to begin giving directions to Tony in between experimenting with every button and knob he could find in the new car.
There was silence from the rear seat until they had almost reached the turn-off to the farm.
“The turning is along here somewhere.” Monica spoke quietly hoping Uncle Rodger wouldn’t hear.
“Yes.” Uncle Rodger, sharp of hearing when he wished to be, agreed with Monica. “You’ll have to keep an eye out. It can be very confusing.” He tapped Tony on the shoulder to make sure he had heard him.
“Yes, I know, I know.” Tony hissed through his teeth.

“This is it.” Uncle Rodger bellowed.

“No, Uncle Rodger I think it’s the next one.” Monica contradicted.

“No. No. It’s definitely this one. I’ve been here dozens of times. This is it.”

Tony cast a sideways glance at Monica and asked. “Is this it?”

“I’m not sure now. I’m a bit confused. Trees and scrub have grown. It’s been a long while….”

“It’s the right road I tell you.” Bellowed the adamant voice from the rear.

“O.K We’ll give it a go. We can always turn back if it isn’t.” Tony turned into the muddy rutted track. “You’d think he could get a grader out here sometimes.”

The road was narrow and pot holed. The car bumped along slowly as Tony tried to save the suspension as much as he could. “Fancy having to travel on this every day.”

“Well they have a four wheel drive and trucks so I suppose, they don’t worry so much about it.”

Monica gripped the dashboard as Tony slithered to a halt in front of a narrow expanse of water which reached across the road. It shimmered and rippled as the wind flicked the surface.

“This can’t be the right road.” He muttered wondering how he could turn around without getting bogged. ( Tony is after all a city boy and not one to drive off road very much.)

“That’s nothing!” Uncle Rodger claimed.

“Yes. We’re country folk. We’ve been through much more water than that in our time.” Aunt Alice not wanting to be outdone by her husband and always driving home the idea she was a tough, experienced country woman. “And we didn’t have big posh cars to do it in! I remember when we….”

“Oh I don’t think so.” Tony butted in on her reminiscing and shook his head. “It doesn’t look to me as if anyone else has been through that water today. We have no idea how deep it is.”

The two elderly people in the rear became united on the issue and didn’t want to be overruled.

“Don’t be silly boy. Of course there have been other people, this is Rodney’s road. They have to have been through it to get to his place.” Uncle Rodger’s voice was imbued with authority. He never forgot he had been the mayor of his district years before.

Monica looked across at Tony nervously. “Well, I suppose it isn’t very wide. Only a couple of meters so I guess it could be O.K “
Tony gave a deep and meaningful sigh and edged the car forward carefully. He was far from certain. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
The car had been his one big luxury in the last few years and putting it through this water just didn’t seem right.

At first the water appeared to be quite shallow and the roadway felt firm beneath his hands on the steering wheel. When they reached about half way across the expanse, he began to feel more confident. It was then that the left front wheel sank. There was a sickening crunching and screeching as metal hit rocks. The motor gave a sighing hiss and died as a small cloud of steam rose above the hood and was whisked away by the gale.

Their seat belts saved Tony and Monica from tipping forward and falling into the foot wells when the car hit the bottom of the wash-away with a sudden lurch, tilting them over with a sharp list to portside. The car not being an amphibious vehicle began to seep water in under the front left door all over Monica’s feet.
“Oh Tony!” She screamed.

“We’re all going to have to bail out!” Uncle Rodger yelled his voice now full of panic as he grabbed the back of Tony’s headrest.

Tony acted quickly, leaning across to pick Monica’s handbag up from the floor near her feet before it got wet. He opened the driver’s door and stepped out into water which swirled and eddied around just below his knees. “Bloody, hell!” He yelled as water soaked through his shoes and oozed up his legs. His wet and clammy trousers clung to his legs and small insects caught on the surface of the water crept through the hairs of his legs to safety. This disaster and was expressed in his scream of oaths which frightened a flock of cockatoos out of a tree and sent them screeching into the grey sky.

“Don’t get out your side Monica. It’ll be deep. The wheel has gone over the edge of a wash-away or something. Climb out my door quickly.” He reached inside the car slipping and sliding on the clay of the road under his feet. She scrambled up onto her seat and grasped his hand negotiating with difficulty, across the gear stick and out of the driver’s door. Her legs hung over the water uncertainly and then she stepped gingerly into the water. “Oh” she hesitated

“You don’t have any choice love you’ll have to get wet. It’s firm here. I’ll hold you.”

“Oh Tony. It’s freezing” And because she is so much shorter than him, she sank, the water level well over her knees. “Oh what on earth can we do out here?” She squealed. “Shivers its cold!”

Aunt Alice who had been sitting quietly watched as Uncle Rodger struggled to open his door against the weight of the water.

“Wait Rodger. Wait.” Tony pulled the door open and the old man slowly turned to dip his feet out into the murky depths which for him was fortunately slightly shallower toward the rear of the car.
Aunt Alice undid her seat belt and with great composure lifted her legs up onto the back seat. She was the only one still completely dry and obviously intended to stay that way. The water had already seeped into the front carpets and filled the bag of gifts Monica had brought for her nieces and nephews.
“What a stupid thing to do!” The old lady was saying.

Tony found Julie’s mobile phone and called Rodney’s number. It seemed to take an age before anyone answered the phone.
“Hello!” yelled Tony. “Is that you Rodney?”
“Daddy’s busy with people.” lisped one of his children.
“Then get Mummy.” Tony yelled down the phone.
“Mummy’s busy with people too.” lisped the small efficient crowd controller. “ I don’t know where she is.”
“Find her. It’s very important!”
“Tony give it to me.” Monica demanded “You’ll frighten her.”
“Bugger frightening her.” Tony swore as it began to rain. “I’m not so jolly myself.”
“Helen darling. This is Aunty Monica. Will you please go and get Mummy? It’s really important.”
“You are meant to be here.” replied the accusing voice. “Uncle Tony yelled at me.”
“Yes we know we should be there dear. We are stuck. We need help. PLEASE get Mummy.” Monica was now close to tears. “But please……..”click. “Don’t hang up!” she looked at Tony “She hung up, we have to ring back.”
Just as Monica was about to recall her cousin’s number, Uncle Rodger who’s legs were becoming stiff with cold and could no longer support him, slipped and he fell on his bottom into the water. “Oh! Oh! Help! Help!” He splashed about impotently making himself wetter and stirring up more mud from the bottom.

Tony and Monica waded across and bent to grasp a hand each to drag him to his feet. Slowly they hauled him up. Tony grasped his uncle under the armpits and pulled and pushed him across back to the car. The mess on the old man’s clothing transferring itself to Tony. He was a dead weight and the two men were both puffing with the exertion. The whole time Monica and Tony were trying to help him he kept up an endless string of “Oh, dears.”

Tony by now had built up quite a bit of clay on the bottom of his shoes and as he steadied his foot against the car to lower the old chap into the back seat, the clay flipped off and Tony’s foot went from under him crashing his chin down onto the edge of the door. “Ouch! “Bloody hell!!!” He turned about holding his chin which now had a red and swelling bruise across it.

“Oh Tony!” Screamed Monica in sympathy.
“Stop screaming at me.” he screamed back. ”Oh the pain……” He stood swaying, watching coloured lights flicker in the air around him.

Uncle Rodger sat impassively on the back seat of the car where his wet clothing soaked through the seat fabric and Aunt Alice complained “You old fool. Now look what you’ve done to your new slacks and shoes. It will take a lot of cleaning to get that clay out of them ……and stop dripping on my feet!”
“Never mind his slacks, what about our car?” Tony was incandescent with anger by now.
“Don’t you talk to me like that Tony. It was you who got us into this mess!’ the old lady answered haughtily.
“I’ll strangle her before today is over.” He rubbed his throbbing chin. He knew he had to try and gain some control of himself and stood breathing in great gulps of air. The situation called for a cool head and at the moment the only thing cool about him were his feet and legs. They were frozen.

Monica’s mobile rang. Her hands shaking with cold and shock wouldn’t obey her mind and find the right buttons to press. Eventually she put it to an ear.
“Hello?’
“Are you trying to get us?”
“Oh Rebecca. We’ve had a terrible accident on your road where the water is. The car has gone over the edge and we are all soaked.”
“What water? We don’t have any water…..Oh no! Did you come in the front way? We told the old people to take the second turning. We started using the new road a couple of years ago it doesn’t get wet.’
“They didn’t tell us and I don’t think now is the time to mention it.” Monica replied through clenched teeth as she heard her aunt say the mantra once more about being a ‘country lady’ and knowing that you just ‘waited to be rescued’.

After what seemed and interminable wait, the bedraggled group watched as a small convoy of Good Samaritan vehicles slowly made their way behind a grinning Rodney, sitting high and warm inside the air-conditioned cabin of his tractor.

Monica heaved a sigh of relief but Tony knew what to expect as Rodney stepped down from the tractor cabin wearing his waterproof jacket, gum boots and hat.

“Had a bit of trouble mate?” Rodney asked unnecessarily.
“Just pull the bloody car out of the water and get us somewhere dry.” Tony answered shortly.
Rebecca pulled up in her ancient station wagon. Her Labrador dog which travelled everywhere with her leapt out of the back and raced straight into the water barking and splashing about happily at the propitious turn the otherwise boring afternoon had taken.
“Come along Uncle Rodger we’ll get you into something dry and in front of a fire.” She said to the old gentleman sitting forlornly in his filthy clothes.
Rodger for a moment forgot he had a wife still sitting in the car and leaning heavily on Rebecca’s arm, carefully made his way to the dryer section of the road and the sanctuary of the station wagon.
He sat down in the front passenger seat with a sigh that sounded like a sob of relief. “Oh.” He said, suddenly remembering his forgotten gallantry just as Rebecca was about to close the door. “I have to get Alice out. We can’t leave Alice!” He began to try and stand out of the car again but Rebecca restrained him and assured the old man that Aunt Alice would be carried to high ground.

Rodney tested the water on the side the car was tilted and decided it was far too deep to extract the old lady that way. He splashed back to the driver’s side and leant across the back seat. Looking around the interior he called. “Sure was a nice car Tony. I’d say it’s a bit stuffed now though.” and gathering Aunt Alice’s small body into his arms as though she was a lamb and not a ewe, said “C’mon Aunt Alice out you come.” and waded out of the water, depositing her into the rear of Rebecc’a wagon with very little ceremony.
“Nothing like a country man”. Aunt Alice twinkled up at him. “Not like some I can name.” She glared at her husband of fifty years as he sat drenched, shivering and exhausted in front of her.

Monica waded through the slush losing one of her shoes as she went. She stooped and took the other off and angrily hurled it as far as she could across into the water. As she did so she saw a figure on a horse sitting impassively watching them. She guessed it was one of the neighbour’s children and wondered why the child hadn’t gone for some help. She supposed it would have all been so interesting watching these stupid adults, the kid didn’t consider it worth getting help for them. “Little bugger.” She muttered at the nameless rider.

Gingerly she walked across the stony road in her stockinged feet and gratefully collapsed onto the seat beside her Aunt. She tried wringing out her coat and dress but decided it was a waste of time.

She stopped to watch Rodney manoeuvre the tractor and hook a chain up to the tow-bar and begin to pull the car out of the water. It wouldn’t budge at first and then slowly and with sickening sounds of metal tearing and shredding against unseen rocks and wood beneath the water, it was drawn backwards. As it rose out, water dribbled incontinently from every orifice and ran across the muddy road. Tony felt sick to the stomach watching his car disgrace itself. The front left wheel stuck out at a peculiar angle and pieces of torn metal draped and scratched ridges in the mud as the tractor dragged it further up the road.
Monica could see by the slump of his shoulders how upset Tony was feeling. A tear ran down her cheek.
“Poor Tony, it’s been a horrible day for him.” she whispered, for the moment forgetting her Aunt’s presence.
“Well it hasn’t been very nice for us either! “ Aunt Alice said sitting back in the dry comfort of the Rebecca’s car.

Rodney stepped down from the tractor’s cabin and in a united moment of male bonding at the sight of the damaged vehicle put a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Doesn’t look too good does it?” He said “I’ll wait for the tow truck if you want to go back to the house and change.”
“I’ll stay with you if that’s O.K” Tony replied. “If I go anywhere near that old girl for a while, she’ll be the next family funeral you attend.”

The moment passed swiftly as Rodney couldn’t resist grabbing another chance to give Tony more grief. “Not used to driving on roads like this are you mate? You city blokes only have to bleat about one pot-hole in a street and they come running to fix it. Our roads are a mess.” He said, ignoring the fact he was responsible for the upkeep of the road they were standing on. “The Bloody government does nothing about them, nothing.” He waved his massive arms around him.
“Listen you big ignorant hulk I don’t even work for that department!” Tony yelled into the wind and rain.
“Tony!” Julie called out from Rebecca’s car “Shut up! We’re freezing.”

There, I shall leave the story until next time Del because the day had not finished for Monica and Tony…. it was to get worse.

Just listening to her relate it exhausted me but in a weird way, I felt torn between sympathy and the need to put it all down so they could maybe laugh at it in a few decades, poor things.

Until next time,
From your wilting ‘flower child’ friend
Cynthia.