A New Year. 2011

Letter From The Other Side; from Cynthia No 2 2011.

Dear Del,

I think if this time last year anyone had expressed the opinion that they were tired of constant rain, someone would have grabbed them in a headlock and dragged them to a suitable place to be lynched. These aggressive actions would have perhaps attracted a cheering crowd to watch the unfortunate person’s discomfort.
I would have been front and centre at the spectacle with my knitting to maintain the best traditions of bygone days.
But I think today after yet more flooding, anyone could feel free to voice the words loudly while standing among the biggest crowd without being throttled by any irate farmer.

The tourists, with the exception of a few wandering elderly citizens and grey nomads, have mostly left the village and we can once again find parking where we wish and walk the isles of the shops without fear of being trampled by children or their parents, oblivious to where their feet are taking them as they stroll along peering up at the hills. Even the one-way street signs are once again being observed by the majority of the motorists. The gentleman who lives at the end of our road and drives a large Mercedes and is on a restricted license is the one exception, as are a few cyclists who think they can ignore road signs and knock over elderly ladies at will.

At one stage during the summer we were inundated by three thousand Lycra clad cyclists who spread themselves out over the countryside in swarms, clogging the roads and weaving into the motorist’s lanes without a care in the world as they sweated up the mountain roads in pursuit of being first to the top. There must have been a very good prize to encourage them to make the struggle and lose so many litres of fluid.

Many of us entertained visitors to our homes and for most this was an added pleasure which living in such a picturesque place brings.

To one of our friends it became anything but a delightful experience.

While overseas recently during the southern winter, Helen met a couple from Europe who expressed the urge to take part in an adventure holiday.
She is of a generous and hospitable nature but feels now, when she has had time to reflect, was most probably also under the influence of a very good red wine as she issued them an open invitation to come and stay with her.

She discovered to her chagrin that meeting and getting along with people in a hotel, is a very different experience to having them under one’s roof.

The complaints began soon after their arrival. How untidy our bushland looked, how noisy the birds were, how the shops didn’t stock the right sort of food. When faced with the reality of going into the wilder areas the idea of visiting such remote places where there were few people and little emergency help appeared to frighten the life out of them. It was patently obvious to Helen any idea of an adventure trip could be completely thrown out of the ideas pool.

She could understand the culture shock people who had spent their lives in a large city would find when confronted with our great outdoors. Many find them greater and less inviting in reality than on film.

The wildlife is all around us and certainly not trained to think it should stay away from tourists. So when a brown snake about a metre and half long sidled past as they strolled along a bush track, they refused to venture out again unless they were shielded in a vehicle. The snake Helen assures me was going about its business entirely oblivious to the panicking couple. It had probably already enjoyed a meal and was simply trying find a warm spot in which it could take its afternoon nap.

Her temper began to really unravel when the complaints became more personal and hurtful.

She grew up in the large rambling house she lives in. The house grew each time her family grew and her father built it section by section. She admits that the plumbing has never been changed and is known to have idiosyncrasies which can take time to get used to. I can on occasion make a body feel as if it is a lobster about to be boiled or a pack of peas being deep frozen They complained bitterly about these occasional spasms.

The neighbours came to visit and being ordinary not very well educated folk but possessing hearts of marshmallow, tried to welcome Helen’s guests to their home for a traditional barbecue. The offer was met with disdain and the conversation gradually petered out.
It was about this time she remembered an old saying of her mothers. One she had never really understood until now.

Following each of the dreaded visits by her father's unruly and enormous family, her mother would survey her usually neat and dusted living rooms which had been left by the guests looking as if they had been refurbished by an army of wombats. She would mutter quietly.

Outside her eyes would harden as she gazed at her carefully tended garden, now beaten by children who had thrashed about with cricket bats and flattened the herbaceous borders while searching for lost balls. The muttering would become audible and voiced with great emotion.
'After a week, visitors and fish begin to smell the same.'

Helen's patience had dried up along with her housekeeping money.

With nerves twanging, she watched them do as they had done each morning while drinking coffee through pursed lips. The cups would hover in the air and they would look back into the liquid as if suspecting her of adding a pitch of foxglove or hemlock to the coffee beans. It was she had mused not an unwelcome idea.



The days dragged on a little longer while she racked her brain trying to make the signals plain it was time they moved on.....preferably a long way on.

She decided to ask them to leave. It seemed the only sensible thing to do. It was after all, her own fault they were there at all.

Full of resolve, she planned to give them a pleasant day and after they returned home as them to depart, bbegone, farewell, whichever word sprang into her head first or, if her resolve dissolved and she became the vacillating coward she now believed herself to be, think of a sick relative she needed to visit, without delay.


They left after breakfast to visit a local deer farm which boasts magnificent gardens, views and a top class restaurant.
A few miles out of town, they passed an elderly gentleman walking on the rough gravel. He is an old ‘Bushy’ and lives in a shack in the hills. Quite illegally of course because it is Crown land, but no-one worries about that. His plumbing for all anyone knows is non-existent and he is best conversed with upwind and from a distance. He shares his shack with his dogs and they probably share their fleas with him. But he is known to be a dear old gentleman who has lived a very hard life.
It had been a particularly trying few days for Helen. The stifling heat made the effort to cook appetizing meals irksome and she swigged at her indigestion medication while she tossed salads and sizzled steaks; poking them savagely with a fork in an attempt to ease her frustrations.


A brilliant idea occurred to her as she passed the old chap. She pulled up quickly, throwing her shocked backseat passengers forward in their seat belts, executed a quick three point turn while they straightened their hair and clothes and drove back to the old fellow still steadily trudging along in boots which seemed to be ill-fitting and filthy.

“Hello Arthur’ she called, ‘Would you like a lift this morning, I see you are limping a little?’
A lift is a rare treat for Arthur because most people know it takes a good week and half a can of air freshener and insect repellent to rid the inside of ones car with the evidence of his presence.
His cracked lips spread out under about five days of bristle on his leathery face. The few yellow teeth he has left went up and down with pleasure.

“Would I Helen? You’re an angel, you bet I would!” He opened the back door, smiled happily at the appalled couple sitting in the rear, ‘Well, move over.’ he grinned at them, breathing heavily in his haste to make himself comfortable and filling the car with his special aroma.
They moved over, pressing against one another as they tried to avoid making any actual physical contact with Arthur. Helen surmised they had not entertained anyone like him in their vehicle at home.

The following day after much frantic repacking of their immaculate clothing into their immaculate and expensive suitcases they made very insincere farewells to her and she expressed the most insincere disappointment at the thought of them leaving.

As their bus rounded the corner out of sight she executed an impromptu Highland Fling.

After telling me her tales she giggled girlishly, “ I must take Arthur some scones next week, and wrap up some bones for his dogs.’

It’s soggy, but fun living in the country especially during the times we make our own simple fun.
I don’t suppose Helen has done very much for the tourist trade but I don’t think that will weigh on her conscience very much.

The mosquitoes are about in great swarms following the rain and humidity so keep yourself safe from the nasty things they may spit into your bloodstream Del,
I am smothered in citronella oil and lavender so I am very much

Your flower child friend,
Cynthia.