Tuesday, September 29, 2009

The Barwon River Geelong.

This is near the walking and cycling track Teddy uses to 'get away from it all.'
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Sunday, September 27, 2009

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.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

A Childhood Memory. Printed in the newsletter of my local writing group.
I thought I would include it in my blog. to illustrate that I can be serious.


A Childhood Memory.

The year is 1950.

The place is Nukualofa the capital of the small Pacific Island Kingdom of Tonga.
I am standing on the pier watching my mother swinging high into the air as the large rope cargo net lifts her while she lies helplessly on a stretcher. The wind sways the light load and I hear a faint cry as she feels the movement and watches the birds’ wheel above her.

I ask my older more knowing sister why our mother is being hung up in the net. She explains it is because she can’t walk up the gangplank, she is too ill. There is no other way to get her onto the ship.

The ship towers over us, smelling of oil and paint, its engine rumbles and bilge water streams from the rear. The odours mix with the smell of drying copra.

The smoke stacks are beginning to show a light plume of grey as the stokers get the engines ready for departure.

My mother’s body keeps swaying in the air, slowly rocking, flying closer to the ship as waiting arms stretch out to catch hold of the ropes and steady her descent.

At last she is lowered.

We walk up the gangplank, the water far below.

Our Tongan friends and my Tongan ‘mother’ who has cared for me for years stand quietly murmuring and begin to sing The Maori Farewell. The music fills me with fear and an immense sadness which still lingers.

The End.
Elizabeth M. Thompson. ©

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Letter From The Other Side by Cynthia.

Written by Elizabeth. M. Thompson.


Dear Del,
Well Spring has arrived hasn’t she? I always think of spring here in the southern part of the country as being like a very spoilt young woman.

I think she has been praised far too much in songs and verse in the northern hemisphere and arrives down here full of flouncing blossoms and waving bulbs and when she isn’t greeted with the enthusiasm she thinks befits her pretty face turns on a temper tantrum and blows off our roofs, tosses trees across power lines, railways tracks and roads and generally makes an embarrassing exhibition of herself.

Spring also brings with her the annual dose of hay fever causing many of us to interrupt our conversations with prolonged bouts of sneezing, or on occasions choking while valiantly trying not to sneeze a mouthful of our dinner across our partner’s plate.
We stand beside other afflicted folk who are making peculiar clicking noises in their throats at the chemists as they try and ease the itching while waiting to be handed the necessary antihistamines to relieve their discomfort.

Spring is also the time when blowflies arrive back from their holidays in the warmer northern states and force cooks to continually shout at forgetful children and husbands to ‘Close the door!’ as they are preparing the Sunday roast.

Along with the horrible flies, the cyclists dressed in those ever so revealing spandex outfits, swarm along the bike tracks and if one of them is suffering from hay fever and happens to be standing in the queue in the pharmacy with you it can be very difficult to know just where to place your eyes as he passes.

The weather bureau of course is in its element forecasting the coming gale and reporting the strength of the last one. If your power is out you may miss the riveting news that you will be waiting six more hours before the men in their trucks can clear the trees sufficiently to get down the road to your area to repair the lines enabling you to turn a light on to see where you left your glasses and make that longed for cup of tea.

Just to cheer everyone up, the weather man assumes the grim expression he reserves for such occasions and tells us we are about to go into a summer which will be even hotter, dryer and longer than the last one.

I think this is to test our resolve and to give us time to decide if we wish to live through another three months of temperatures up to 48 degrees or if we just want to slide off the world or emigrate to Iceland.

Of course it enthuses those mad ‘firebugs’ we seem to have in the population who love to play with matches and think they can make achieve some sort of sick fame by frightening us all.

Teddy and I experienced bushfires first hand and while I can think of very few things
more terrifying which leaves its trauma with you for a long time, I hope the survivors from last year’s fires are taking heart at the marvellous regeneration our forests can make.
This country is lucky to have plant species that have evolved to actually need fire to survive and although the forest looks black and dead for months, as soon as the first rain falls, green shoots appears across the ground and the tall eucalypts sprout the beginnings of new branches all the way up their mighty trunks showing the strength of the natural world to survive and carry on.

It sets a good example of a willingness to remain undaunted no matter what is thrown at us.
We spend spring getting ready for the threatened heat by making sure our grey water hoses are without unwanted holes and this year we are making an igloo to protect the vegetables from the searing winds which last year cooked and dried the tomatoes and lettuces where they grew.

The authorities allow us two hours of watering a week and no more. We have a tank which is full and hope this year we shall manage a little better than last.
Of course our companions of the shower, the blue buckets, will be put into use again very soon. Every drop is precious and necessary.
The climate has changed so much since we were young it seems almost impossible to grow vegetables in the unshaded areas any longer.

Only tourists and masochists lie out in the sun covered in oil trying to get a suntan. Along with the wished for tan they are quite likely to develop heat stroke and skin cancer or at the very least develop skin which looks like the saddle from an old drover’s horse.

So while Spring may come all dressed up and pretty, she is a madcap season and not to be overly praised and encouraged as she always trails that ugly stalker Summer behind her as he brings his swaggering bully-boy threats and vicious weapons of fire and drought with him.

They are an unwelcome pair this decade and we can only hope a change in the world’s greenhouse emissions will tame their attitudes during the next decade.
Your sneezing ‘flower child friend’
Cynthia

Saturday, September 5, 2009

Letter From The Other Side; by Cynthia.

Written by Elizabeth. M. Thompson.

Dear Del,
Teddy remarked one evening last week ‘It seems to be always rubbish bin night’ and by the way the days fly by I had to agree with him.

We’ve all heard of the disasters when people have inadvertently thrown away money or precious items.

One of our friends threw away an old cardboard box he thought was full of rubbish to find he had turfed out a box of all the documents and certificates of the records of his wife’s family tree which had taken her years to collect.

The air in their home was noticeably frosty for some time.

Teddy’s remark started me thinking how privileged we are to have our modern methods of waste disposal.

Each week we place our green and yellow container for rubbish which can be recycled next to the green and brown ordinary rubbish bin which then sits beside the council’s green waste bin for the garden refuse which is composted for our public gardens.

Not so many decades ago we just had the dust bin as it was called. This mixed rubbish was taken by trucks to a designated place out of town which quickly became a smelly eyesore teaming with foxes, wild cats, dogs, rats and other vermin and a thorough blot on the landscape which many towns are still trying to clean up and reclaim.

When we lived on the farm there was of course, no collection. Our nearest small town was sixty kilometres away and the largest was almost three hundred kilometres away up a highway drawn in straight line with a ruler on the map as well as the landscape.

We composted and buried what we could and once a year during winter we burnt anything combustible and the rest we took to the dump in the back of our farm ‘ute.

Sometimes getting rid of rubbish and unwanted items caused us a few problems.

One in particular sits in the back of my mind even now and taught me always to check the pockets of any garment I may be trying to swipe from Teddy’s wardrobe when he isn’t about.
Teddy has always had the habit of becoming fond of certain garments to the point where a casual observer may even suspect he has super-glued the offending piece of clothing to his back.

Trying to get him to toss something out in the rubbish is not easy. Rarely is anything worth putting in an op-shop.

He once took to a pair of jeans which he said ‘were comfortable’ and wore them continuously to do all types of mucky jobs around the farm until they became knee-less, frayed and the backside so torn it was almost indecent or only useful to some sleazy dresser for an X rated porn magazine.
They became quite a bone of contention between us.
At this time we still used a wonderful wood burning slow combustion stove which also heated our water and many a meal had been cooked by me with the help of an old shirt or a few odd socks.
I did try an old pair of boots once, but never again. I discovered leather burns at a very high temperature and these old boots burnt so fiercely the flu of the stove became red hot. The hot water boiled and rumbled in the pipes and tank and out of the overflow on the roof for quite a while. It was all a little bit scary and took a while to cool down.

One day when Teddy was in town, dressed in his town clothes, and not likely to be back for a while, I took the opportunity to dispense with the offending jeans which had been left in an untidy pile beside our bed and hurriedly stuffed them into the firebox to help cook the dinner I was making.
I placed an old but newer pair back onto the floor space where the ancient relics had been. Teddy would see them and know his comfortable ones had been taken to the place where all faithful old clothes go.
Very pleased with myself I had at last seen the last of the ragged specimens I went on with preparing the vegetables until a loud bang came from the stove.
I stopped what I was doing as a second and then a third bang shattered my self satisfied mood.
Not waiting for the fourth bang I scuttled from the kitchen and went outside while a few more explosions issued from the kitchen.
At last they stopped and I returned to what I had been doing thinking there probably wouldn’t be any need to mention to Teddy about the bangs. He would be quite upset enough his jeans had been cremated.

During lunch, when water began to seep from the stove and across the floor, I had to admit I had burnt his jeans and in my haste to see the end of them I had neglected to check the only pocket still in tact.
This last remaining pocket must have held a handful of bullets from the rifle he had been using to shoot rabbits and foxes the day before and one of the bullets or perhaps, judging by the increasing flow of the water across the room, more than one of the bullets had punctured the water jacket of the firebox.

He was quite philosophical about it all; especially as I was the one who had to make the 300 kilometres drive to the nearest town with a store which had in stock a suitable replacement water jacket.

Yes, the wonders of modern waste disposal make life much easier and far less dangerous for me although I do still check the pockets very carefully.

The loose change or ‘shrapnel’ as the boys call it goes into the grandchildren’s money boxes.

Your clean and tidy ‘flower child friend’
Cynthia.