Vinyl Records and Memories

My wife Veronica (Bonnie Ronnie) and I have been digitising our old vinyl records for the past couple of days. A few years ago Ronnie bought one of those Digital Turntable Players and we just never had the time to set it up, learn how to use it etc. - you know... all the excuses the procrastinator uses. Well we finally got around to setting it up and learning how to use it as we practised on some of our older less popular records, just in case we mucked up.

Once we got onto a roll and actually worked out how we could listen to the digital recording as we were duplicating and dubbing etc. we really started to have a bit of fun. We started with the "seven singles" (45rpm) as we used to call them,  Bonnie Ronnie had sorted them by Genre with Romance at the top of her stack.

This is the first record player we have had since leaving Rhodesia (Zimbabwe) so we hadn't heard some of these songs since the seventies and very early eighties. It didn't take long for the memories to come flooding back and it was as though we had gone back in time almost forty years. The memories were so vivid and the emotions as real today as they were back then. Progress is slow because we have laughed till we cried, danced a bit and sobbed till we were exhausted, we would then rest and reflect on our life together.

It has been a very good life, an adventurous life with more trials and tribulations than we expected but it has moulded us together in such a way that my Bonnie Ronnie is not my soul mate, she IS my soul. I realised this when we were broken down, penniless halfway across the Australian Nullarbor with two small children asleep in a small tent - it was midnight we had just finished some repairs to the car when she commented on the beauty and serenity that surrounded us. There was no panic, or accusation of failure. I had brought her half way around the world, completely cutting her off from everyone who was near and dear to her, to a point in time and quite possibly the most isolated place on earth to become destitute with little hope for the future and in return she gave me strength, through her love and faith in me. This however is a story for another time [Perth-Brisbane].

There had been two occasions while we were courting and romancing back in the day when pressure from my parents, particularly my father had caused us to break up. We were fighting a war at the time and I would often be deployed for months on end which really cramps a courtship I can tell you, so that didn't help matters. Why were my parents so against my Bonnie Ronnie I hear you ask?

For a start my father had unrealistic expectations for me, we often joked about his desire for me to study law and enter politics - he would tell everyone that I would be Prime Minister one day ...but Dad wasn't joking so I became a huge disappointment to him when my grades dropped at school, I left early and took up a trade - well that didn't go down well I can assure you. Dad didn't have much to say about the various girls I dated (there weren't many anyway) but Bonnie Ronnie was different and I learned a thing or two about my father that I must say I don't much care for to this day. Dad is my father and I love him and honour him but Ronnie wasn't just a girlfriend, I was totally smitten and completely in love with her and she loved me... and I loved that she loved me.

Dad was rude, abusive and downright obnoxious to Ronnie, we were young, fighting prejudice, parents, so called friends, time, distance and a war and the pressure became too much for us - for me... and I couldn't stand the way Ronnie's heart was breaking while looking for acceptance from my family. My brothers all three, always accepted Ronnie right off the bat and I knew that they would take care of her if anything were to happen to me. I think that they each were a little in love with my Bonnie Ronnie and I'm not talking about lust here. I have the best brothers on earth.

Anyway on two occasions I tried to end our relationship primarily because Dad had managed to convince me that I would treat Ronnie badly in the future - yes I know my mind wasn't exactly healthy at the time, one of the occasions was after sitting at a guard post sucking on the flash-hider of my rifle for four hours (Definitely another story!) Life was not going as expected and hope had almost run out (almost - I didn't pull the trigger although I had applied some pressure from time to time). 

Our break-ups never lasted more than a day or two but they felt like an eternity because I simply could not stop loving this girl no matter how hard I tried and believe me I tried, what kind of life could a screw up like me offer this beautiful creature. She needed love, she had had so much abuse prejudice and rejection in her life and she had a right to expect a good life with a good provider. I knew after the second break-up that even if I couldn't be the provider that my Bonnie Ronnie deserved, she would never find anyone who would love her more than I. This was something that I could give her and I believed that this would see us through anything that life could throw at us.... and guess what - I was right.

Oh you should have seen her light up like a Christmas tree when our son was born, my heart swelled so much that day that I felt sure it would explode in my chest. Words cannot describe the positive change that our Son and later our Daughter would have on my Bonnie Ronnie, she was determined to prove all the nay sayers wrong - and she did, but in such spectacular fashion that my Father actually accepted her in the end.

This is only a glimpse at what these vinyl records have rekindled - The range of emotions are incredible.

Bonnie Ronnie

Till next time God Bless!

Shane and the Shunter

Since writing my last blog this morning about Mom's home remedy and Guy's scalding, I've had my second youngest brother Shane on my mind. Shane was born while we were still living in Wankie, Southern Rhodesia (forgive me for using the old names but I grew up with these names so my fondest memories are inextricably entwined with them). In fact Shane was born shortly after Guy's scalding/burns incident.

Shane now lives with his family in the UK and I was able to catch up with him and enjoyed his company for the whole of September 2011, this is relevant because I hadn't seen Shane for 30 years 5 months and 11 days. That is another story in itself and I'll tell that another time suffice to say we created a whole new batch of awesome memories.

About six months ago Shane had a nasty fall off a ladder and shattered his right ankle. It has been touch and go ever since, as to whether he will lose the foot because of the severity of the injury but I digress - back to our story.

As I've mentioned in my last post, my Dad worked for the Rhodesia Railways as a Telegraphist at that time, down at the shunting yards. We lived at the time in Motherwell Street, the number escapes me but we lived directly opposite the only house on the other side of the street just up the road from the Railway clinic (I was already a frequent visitor, as were my brothers to a lesser degree but "frequent flyer points" or "flybys" as they are commonly known today hadn't been thought of at that time - pity, haha!). The Taggarts lived opposite us in that house, I always thought of the nursery rhyme 'Jack Sprat' whenever I thought of them.... come to think of it I still do. They were a lovely family who had their fair share of trials and tribulations as most families do.

I probably shouldn't mention this but I will anyway as it seemed so comical to me at the time. Dad would often get home from work in the evening, get out his guitar and mouthorgan (harmonica) and play (between sips of coffee) on the veranda. Mom would sometimes sing if we didn't have an audience which wasn't very often. The neighbours would always come out and ask Dad to play various tunes. 

Frequently during these impromptu sessions Mr Taggart would arrive home from the pub which was up the road at the top of the hill. The neighbours would snigger as Mr Taggart made his way on wobbly legs (there had been a tragedy and he no longer drove, I suspect this was the reason for stopping at the pub on his way home). Mrs Taggart would politely escort him into the lounge from their veranda, their curtains were seldom drawn so we could see quite clearly into the lounge and Mrs Taggart would give Mr Taggart a clip across the ear which would always send him sailing across the room past the picture window. She would be heard saying "...and that's for not coming directly home" then as she helped him up "..now come and have your dinner pet". This usually signalled the end of Dad's playing and bath time for us kids.

I was an early riser regardless of the time I went to bed and this holds true to this day but as a child this was problematic because I was one of those 'hyperactive' kids I think they call it 'ADHD' these days, anyway I couldn't stay indoors I had to get outside and play. I loved westerns which Dad would read to me on occasions and we would sometimes go to number three colliery to watch silent black and white 16mm movies of 'Hopalong Cassidy' or 'Buffalo Bill'. These were my hero's and I would enter my fantasy world and play on my own for hours. 

While I was allowed to go outside to play early in the morning I had strict instructions to make sure I closed the door properly and to play in the back yard. I usually did this however on one particular morning I was coming in the back door when there was a loud banging at the front door. Dad was right there and opened the door... I had a clear view through the passage to the open door.

I'll never forget the big Dutch shunter standing at the door thrusting his right fist forward and asking, "Is dis yorn?" (Is this yours?) and dangling from his huge fist was a little dirty bundle looking like a little puppy that had been dragged backward through a coal shaft... it was Shane!, he was about a 10-12 months old (from memory) and had yet to master the art of walking. "I fond him zitting by the trak at the yardt" said the Dutch Shunter in his thick guttural accent.

By now the whole family, servants included had come along to see what all the fuss was about. Mom took Shane from Dad who had thanked the Dutch Shunter before closing the front door and beckoning me to come closer. "How did your brother get out Peter?" asked Dad, without waiting for a reply he stated, "Didn't close the door properly, did you?". I know now that the questions were rhetorical but Dad was a man who believed that sparing the rod would spoil the child and a lesson needed to be learned - it was fortuitous that a tragedy had been avoided when Shane was saved by the Shunter and so I learned a valuable lesson on responsibility that day. For that I am grateful to both my parents.

Red - Our Home, Green - Dads office, Blue - where Shane was found.

To this day we have no idea how he managed to cover such a distance as a baby, and in less than two hours - incredible!

Till next time, God Bless.

Burns - Guy's Incident.

I came across this interesting post this morning on Facebook;

A young man sprinkling his lawn and bushes with pesticides wanted to check the contents of the barrel to see how much pesticide remained in it. He raised the cover and lit his lighter; the vapors ignited and engulfed him He jumped from his truck, screaming. His neighbor came out of her house with a dozen eggs and a bowl yelling: "bring me some more eggs!" She broke them, separating the whites from the yolks. The neighbor woman helped her to apply the whites onto the young man's face. When the ambulance arrived and the EMTs saw the young man, they asked who had done this. Everyone pointed to the lady in charge. They congratulated her and said: "You have saved his face." By the end of the summer, the young man brought the lady a bouquet of roses to thank her. His face was like a baby's skin. A Healing Miracle for Burns: Keep in mind this treatment of burns is being included in teaching beginner fireman. First Aid consists of first spraying cold water on the affected area until the heat is reduced which stops the continued burning of all layers of the skin. Then, spread the egg whites onto the affected area. One woman burned a large part of her hand with boiling water. In spite of the pain, she ran cold faucet water on her hand, separated 2 egg whites from the yolks, beat them slightly and dipped her hand in the solution. The whites then dried and formed a protective layer. She later learned that the egg white is a natural collagen and continued during at least one hour to apply layer upon layer of beaten egg white. By afternoon she no longer felt any pain and the next day there was hardly a trace of the burn. 10 days later, no trace was left at all and her skin had regained its normal color. The burned area was totally regenerated thanks to the collagen in the egg whites, a placenta full of vitamins.

This reminded me of a few incidents when my mother's home remedies were used to great effect and I thought that I might share one of these today.

When my brother Guy was a toddler we lived in a little coal mining town called Wankie in the north west of Southern Rhodesia, I think the name(s) have been changed to Hwange in Zimbabwe. My father was a Telegraphist working for Rhodesia Railways at the shunting yards on the west side of town. I was fascinated with my Dad's ability to communicate using Morse code and loved the almost musical tapping of the telegraph.

My mother was the home maker as was common in the 1950's with usually only one breadwinner in a family. Yes we had 'servants' as the black Africans were commonly referred to, but truth be told every person regardless of colour felt that it was incumbent upon them to alleviate poverty and unemployment and so would employ as many people as possible, of course the pay was pathetic and that was why these 'servants' would be supplied with life's necessities (accommodation, clothing, food, detergent's etc.) in addition to the meagre pay. For the most part those who could do more - did.

We had a housemaid and a gardener, not that they had much work to do since we didn't have a garden and my mother preferred to do her own housekeeping, but the housemaid could make tea and baby-sit from time to time and the gardener could water the fruit tree's twice a week, thereby assisting with feelings of self worth. (These people became family members over time.)

Early one morning the housemaid had made a huge pot of tea, placed it on top of the tea trolley and wheeled it through to the passage and left it outside my parents bedroom door. Guy and I shared a bedroom opposite and I was an early riser (this would prove to be problematic from time to time as I often woke my siblings) and woke my brother Guy. After helping Guy escape the confines of his cot, I left him to his own devices and went off to explore the yard (remember - no garden) and enact my favourite fantasy while playing the part of my favourite western hero 'Hopalong Cassidy'.

A short while later I heard a blood curdling scream from Guy and raced indoors to find out what had happened. I came upon the scene of my mother, handing my screaming brother to my father calmly as she instructed the almost hysterical housemaid, "Kajima - boysa lo baby powder and lo Vaseline" ("Quickly bring the baby powder and the Vaseline") as she stripped off Guy's clothing. The tea trolley was laying on it's side, the teapot had lost it's cosy and was laying in a mixture of tea, sugar and milk upon the linoleum. It was apparent that Guy who was just starting to learn to walk, had crawled over and tried to pull himself up by using the tea trolley. He had managed to pull the tea trolley over emptying it's contents onto himself, including a teapot full of boiling hot tea.

My mother righted the upturned tea trolley, and gave it a swipe over with her dressing gown just as the housemaid returned. Taking the canister of 'Johnsons Baby Powder' Mom removed the top and emptied the contents onto the tea trolley, then she took handfuls of Vaseline and started mixing it with the powder which she then applied as a paste to Guy's burns.  Guys screams abated to sobs as the soothing paste was applied to his entire body. Mom then grabbed a crepe bandage and bandaged Guy so that he looked like an Egyptian mummy. This whole incident had taken less than five minutes and although Guy was taken to the General Hospital as a precaution immediately after, it was my Mothers calm quick thinking and her home remedy that had saved Guy.  

Guy has absolutely no scaring as a result. The home remedy was continued for several weeks as it was a very soothing balm which I can personally attest to having used it on my own second and third degree burns after an afgas explosion - but that's another story for another day.

A Telegraph similar to the one my Dad used in the 1950's

Till next time - God Bless.

Genealogy

Well it's been quite a while since I put anything up in my blogs and I must apologise to my followers. There has been a lot happening to and around my family and so I thought it appropriate to say a few words about the family - no sorry ....no airing of my family's dirty laundry here and any skeletons will stay in their respective closets.

I've been researching my family and their history since I was 15 years old and one thing I learned very early is that one relies very heavily on the yarns and confidences of various family members in order to gather some of the facts. If one repeats a harmful yarn to another living soul, not only is unwarranted pain and destruction released but one loses the trust of others and that is no small thing. In fact it makes 'Genealogy' impossible so I have a simple rule, I will reveal an individuals history only when i.) that history has become public, ii) they have requested I reveal it or iii) sufficient time has passed so as to have no more impact than the odd raising of someone's eyebrows.

Family history is fascinating, there are literally thousands of yarns and we would all like to be related to a famous, powerful or wealthy family however that is rarely the case. We are in fact more likely to be related to a notorious bad-ass and often criminals or assassins. Bet that got you to the edge of your seat.... sorry I seem to come from a long line of unknown battlers who have had a few minor successes and some major setbacks, just average everyday folk. 

So how did I get started on this lifelong quest? Well, whilst the story probably doesn't rate printing in the local rag it was a big deal to the family and brought about unwittingly by my father. Dad's still alive and doesn't mind my relating the story. Amongst other things there is a family tradition of birthright, blessings and inheritance straight out of the 'Old Testament' from the Holy Bible, literally!

The birthright and blessings in our family had some strict rules as relayed to me by my Great Aunt Jo (Johanna), our family 'Matriarch' and my father had bent/broken (depending on one's perspective) one of the rules,, but wait... I'm getting ahead of myself. First strict adherence to birthright and blessings - The recipient of these must be the oldest surviving first born son or his son or his son's son and that son should be named after his grandfather or father in order to receive the blessing of that relative or the family. Along with the blessing came a responsibility to the family. One of those responsibilities is the safekeeping of any family heirlooms such as the Family Bible (Ours is about 400 years old - 20" x 14" x 4", leather bound, illustrated and written in Old (High) Dutch).

My Father was the benefactor of this birthright, also he is today and was at the time, a 'Jehovah Witness' (this is not an invitation to enter into a theological debate over doctrine, I might add!). Well one evening Great Aunt Jo (a wonderful lady with a heart of gold) was visiting and wanted to verify one of the names written into a partial family tree in the last pages of said Bible. My Father advised Great Aunt Jo that he had lent the Family Bible to the 'Kingdom Hall' (Church) and assured her that it was in good hands. I can tell you the term 'Matriarch' was indeed apt, I was beckoned forth by Great Aunt Jo as she instructed my father to retrieve the heirloom forthwith in the strongest and severest tones I had ever heard from anyone of that generation, whilst she maintained total decorum. I think that this was my most memorable if not very first 'Note to self' experience - "Don't EVER get on the wrong side of this lady", I thought.

While Dad was off recovering the Bible, Aunt Jo advised me of the tradition and it's responsibilities and when Dad returned home Great Aunt Jo instructed my Father to hand the heirloom's and the blessings on to me being the eldest of his four sons. 

I took that old Family Bible and scanned every single page, I found a wealth of goodies in that old book, locks of hair, land deeds, receipts, newspaper clippings in three languages and a portion of the family tree - what a treasure trove. It was the dates of these entry's and the beauty of the writing along with the fact that they had been entered in the mid 1800's, probably in a small house of possibly two or three rooms late at night by candlelight while the large family slept goodness knows where. This was the beginning of my fascination with family history and the origins of our Family Name.

It has until recently been a very slow and often tedious job of searching, inaccurate records, dead ends, back tracking, learning and re-learning. When I married, I started searching for my beautiful wife's family ( my Bonnie Ronnie was an orphan). In 1979 we managed to acquire a copy of Ronnie's full birth certificate in Salisbury (Harare), Rhodesia (Zimbabwe) which gave us Ronnie's mothers name 'Joan Magdalene Breytenbach' and in almost 40 years I have not been able to uncover even one single fact about her family.

Now whilst I struggle with my Bonnie Ronnie's side of the family I have had great success with my 'Lombard', 'Lombaard' side of the family and have a solid history complete with citations and source documents going back to Aurel, Vaucluse, Provence-Alpes-Cote d'Azur, France and the birth of my Great Grandfather x 10 Jean Lombaard born in 1603. 

Very satisfying - My Great Grandfather is depicted in uniform.

Petrus Stephanus Lombaard 1870-1962

A challenge for you - What uniform is this? (Country, Army, Regiment & Period - if you can)

Till next time - God Bless.

Old wounds

I don't know what it is but my family seems to be in the wars at the moment. Bonnie Ronnie chipped a tooth a few days ago, brother Shane shattered his ankle when he fell off a ladder which is the one that will take the longest to heal once all the plates and screws are in place, a bit like putting Humpty Dumpty back together. 

If that wasn't enough my brother Guy's son Heath was collected from the rear whilst he was on his motorcycle, fortunately it seems that nothing was broken but he lost some bark (skin) and his muscles will feel as though he has just survived 10 rounds with the 'Rock'. He is young and he will recover quickly but it will be back to haunt him in the future.

Now it's the first month of winter here in Queensland and the weather is always mild so I love winter.... ordinarily! This morning is a little different since I was very warm when I went to bed at 1am (I get wrapped up in my work/art and lose track of time... but I'm having fun so no foul). This morning however I woke with my whole body cramped in the foetal position chilled to the marrow. It took me an age to straighten my body and get out of bed, which brought to mind my brother and my nephew. I took a long hot shower in the hope of loosening my joints, muscles and bring about a little mobility.

Thankfully my Bonnie Ronnie was here to look after me, helped me into the sunshine to see if that would help. This situation was brought about by my cavalier attitude when I was young, it didn't help that I was accident prone. These aches and pains are as a result of many incidents that would see me in hospital for lengthy stays at least twice a year until we migrated to Australia, I slowed down a bit and became a little more responsible and cautious. These incident's included writing off one bicycle, three motorcycle's,  five cars, explosions, shootings, stabbings, burnings, a car jacking where I was left for dead on the side of the road with a broken face and neck. Broken bones include both legs, both arms, pelvis, left hip, the loss of a patella (twice), a portion of my jaw etc. etc. Today the lot came back to haunt me painfully.

I certainly pray that my nephew doesn't follow in my footsteps in this regard, too late for my brothers, as they too had their fair share of grey hair contribution's to my late Mother (RIP Mom - Love you to bits) and my Dad who is still with us and as sharp as a tack. Dad would always be the one to come and pick up the pieces once we became teenagers - Mom told me once that she just couldn't handle it anymore. I remember her piggybacking me as a seven year old up to the surgery and back everyday to have coal shards removed from my burnt feet and before that there was a time that Dad couldn't look at me after I managed to crush my forehead at age five. She would walk (she never did drive) six miles to visit me in hospital for over three months when I was six, had a burst appendix, hospital mucked up and forgot something inside me, became infected and I lost the right kidney as a result.

My family keep asking me to write a book but I wouldn't know how and my memory is not the greatest. I may however elaborate on some of these incidents and many, many more at some point in the future. For now my thoughts are with my Brother Shane and my Nephew Heath praying for a speedy recovery for both. Bonnie Ronnie is booked in for Thursday to have her tooth repaired.

Till next time, God Bless!

Mothers Day

I find that the older I get, the more appreciative I become of my Mom and Dad. Sadly my Mom passed away a number of years ago but I am very pleased and relieved to say that I honoured her and expressed my love and gratitude to her while she was still with us. This of course is not to say that I didn't give her plenty of grief over the years and I take full responsibility for the majority of those grey hairs.

Everyone's mother is special to them for all the obvious reasons and we all have a million stories to tell of the not so obvious reasons. I'm telling some of mine right here in memory of my Mom on this particular 'Mother's Day' because she is very much on my mind lately and I have awoken on occasion to her odour. I'm sure that everyone is quite aware that one of our strongest emotional triggers is our sense of smell and that our Mothers each have a very distinct sweet odour ('scent' is probably a more polite word but 'odour' is far more personal and descriptive in my opinion). I actually love waking to that and wish for it more often. I can honestly say that the only thing I really regret in my life is not having more time with my Mom before she passed on. We spent the last 18 years of her life on separate continents and although I would phone her frequently, I never even got to see her face as she aged.

Today though is to celebrate Mom and not a time for sad reflection but some of the joys. I am the fist born child and remember how my Mom would tell me that as first born I was greatly honoured but that along with this great honour came great responsibility to my siblings (3 wonderful brothers). She would often say, "..they will follow your example Peter, so be sure to set a good one." Needless to say I did my best to lead them astray with wine, women and song :) lol.

As a teenager and I'm talking about my late teens (mid teenage years I was a nasty piece of work but back in the early 70's everyone did National Service, best thing that ever happened to me at age 17 - made a man of me). I loved to spend time with my Mom, she was my best friend. I would often take her on my motorcycle to visit her friends and relatives. She would always sit side saddle (which is probably illegal today) and say, "A lady never sits astride anything" oh yes! Mom was a bit of a prude but she was most definitely a lady.

Mom always supported me, even when it seemed that the whole world did not, even when I thought she had given up on me, I once asked Mom why it was always Dad I saw first when I was bent and broken (a frequent occurrence in my younger years). "I can't take it anymore" she said through her tears and we never spoke of this again. I loved the way she would not let us leave the house even for a moment without a kiss goodbye 'just in case the good Lord stopped in to take one of us home'.

We would talk about everything and anything, Mom never had the daughter she always wanted so we boys were not spared the things that mothers do with their daughters, we were taught knitting, crocheting, cooking and all the other niceties of home making and I was Mom's confidant back then as she was mine. I loved teasing her especially in 'Haddon and sly' a rather up market department store where I would fall behind then call out to her, childishly "Mommy, mommy... where are you?" She would turn bright red, get the giggles, rush over and playfully slap me with "Peter, Stop-it! you're embarrassing me!"

She loved to sing and dance while my Dad played the guitar and mouthorgan. Some of my fondest memories are of us (the whole family) on the verandah in Marula Avenue and also Spreckly Road all singing and dancing or rollerskating while Dad played. The laughter was awesome. I remember one night when Mom sang with her brother Joe to Dad's music while we all lived at Marula Avenue and the singing was truly awesome, boy they could sing!

I would spoil my Mom at every opportunity even after I married, my wife is the love of my life and the mother of my children but she is not my Mother and I am truly blessed because my wife has never been jealous of my Mother and in fact came to love her as her own Mom. I was and am therefore able to express my love for my Mom openly and fully as every child should, regardless of age. I know that you are smiling down on us right now Mom.

<3 Love you Mom <3

Hand Brake

I was just reading QPS "What the? Friday" which reminded me of three incidents involving the hand brake on vehicles, all quite funny after the fact but not at the time.

1) Many years ago while out camping with Ronnie, the kids, cousin Gary and his family at Charlie Moreland camp site in the Kenilworth area in South East Queensland, we were approached by the Ranger. He had come to tell us that we owed $'s for a shortfall in our paid up fees.

The Ranger had parked his 4 wheel drive on the hill facing away from the river, had left the vehicle in gear but had not engaged the hand brake. We were standing at our camp site so 20-30 meters away from his vehicle while discussing the fees. I was facing the direction from which he had come while he had his back to his vehicle when suddenly I noticed that the vehicle had begun to roll back down the hill. 

I yelled out as Gary and I gave chase after his vehicle. Fortunately I was able to grab on to the door handle on the drivers side with my right hand, launch myself from the ground as the door opened and then used the door as a fulcrum to swing myself through the opening, using my left hand I grabbed the steering as I stamped on the brake and stopped the vehicle. Needless to say the Ranger was very grateful that disaster had been averted and decided to waive the shortfall.

2) Again a long time ago, Ronnie and I were living in Carara on the Gold Coast of Queensland and had rented a couple of video's whilst a work colleague and friend Brett (we were both Regional Managers for a national regional security firm) was visiting while we upgraded a number of Branch computers to ensure that they were millennium compliant. As with all PC's of that era there was a lot of hurry up and wait so the videos were a nice distraction.

Anyway it was a Sunday, our computer work complete, Brett had left to return home and Ronnie and I decided to return the video's. As was quite customary (since I do all the driving) I sat in the car in the car park while Ronnie ducked into the shop to return the video's.

While I was waiting a fellow pulled up in one of those little convertible Jeeps at the apex of the driveway which led off the main service road at Carrara, hoped out and dashed into the video store. No sooner had he disappeared inside than I noticed his jeep beginning to roll back. There was no way that I could get to that vehicle before it would disappear behind the retaining wall so I ran to the corner and leapt off the retaining wall hoping that my judgement was accurate. Fortunately I landed astride the drivers seat and managed to grab the roll bar and windshield to prevent myself from exiting on the other side just as quickly. I was then able to jump on the brake, thus preventing the jeep from plunging over the embankment to the freeway as we (the jeep and I) had already crossed the main service road without incident fortunately.

The owner had come out to find me seated in his Jeep across the road (I was shaking quite a bit after the adrenaline rush and was in no hurry to go anywhere) He came charging down the hill while yelling back at the store for someone to call the police as his Jeep had been stolen.  I don't think he believed me as I never did get any thanks for saving his precious Jeep - the Jerk. Quite a few people had witnessed the whole incident and confirmed my story BTW.

3) This happened in the late 80's whilst I was on Patrol for MSS security. I had just finished servicing what was then 'The Brisbane Fish Board'. I drove up the driveway in my little Patrol Car (best not mention make and model here) I grabbed my run chain (Patrol Client Key Chain) with the padlock still attached (one of those locks that the key cannot be extracted from unless it is in the locked position) - I never locked myself in if I could help it, just in case I needed to make a hasty exit, I'll relate some of those anecdotes another time.

I pulled on the handbrake, put the vehicle in neutral, stepped out leaving the drivers door ajar as I went back to lock the gates. Whilst my back was to the vehicle and as I was about to remove the key from the padlock after snapping it in place, I felt a bump at the back of my knees and was immediately pressed hard against the gates. The handbrake had given way, the car had rolled back and had me pinned against the gates - I quickly realised that unless I acted fast I would lose circulation in the legs and be up the proverbial sh*t creek without a paddle. Fortunately (God Blesses me always) the key was still in the padlock (can't tell you how many times I had cursed that style of padlock till that moment). I managed to release the padlock with difficulty and hung onto the gate as the car pushed through on it's way to the river.

As soon as I was clear of the car I released the gate and gave chase albeit on wobbly legs. I didn't think I was going to make it and had visions of me and the car in the Brisbane River. The car had to cross a level car park and the wharf after descending the hill and I was able to catch it and stop just over a meter from the river - phew!

I hope you get a chuckle out of these, I know I do - now.

Till Next Time - God Bless.

Grizzly Bear's

and things that should go "GRRR"...

I worked in the security industry for many, many years and was unfortunate enough to come across many shocking and some times fortunately funny situations although truth be told there was nothing funny about them at the time. There are a number of people who will remember these incidents and in order to protect the living parties, I've taken the liberty of changing their names. This is an account as accurately as I remember actual incident's that took place in the 80's whilst I was working as a Senior Patrolman for a national company.

One evening whilst I was on patrol in the southern suburbs of Brisbane I received a radio message advising that call sign S40 needed some non urgent assistance at an 'alarm client', his location was given by the control room, radio operator in code. I advised the operator that my ETA (Estimated Time of Arrival) would be 22h10. 

On my arrival at the 'alarm client' (A very well known and very large department store at an inner southern suburb) the patrolman whose call sign was S40 and who we shall call 'Dave' approached me as I was getting out of my car. "Do you have any spare rounds?", he asked. Ding, Ding, Ding went the warning bells, "why the hell is he asking me if I have spare ammunition" I thought as I tentatively asked "Why?" not sure if I really wanted to know.

I have to be honest, I didn't trust Dave, I had recently submitted a request to have him banned from carrying a firearm because of an incident at another client's premises that I had stumbled upon. I'll elaborate - I was carrying out a safety check on a small group of employees at a well known factory close to the city a few weeks earlier and happened to time my call to coincide with their Smoko (Tea break). The smoko room was upstairs on a mezzanine floor overlooking the factory and as I wandered through the factory and found that there was no-one on the floor, I made my way up to the smoko room where I found two of the three employees at a table opposite one another. We were passing the time of day as was customary when I noticed a small angled hole in the table and whilst we were talking I subconsciously stepped back slightly to look through this angled hole. The employees noticed my curiosity and became very quiet as I spied through this hole in the table to a hole in the mezzanine and it dawned on me that these holes were perfectly aligned and about the size of a .38 calibre round. "I don't recall seeing that, the last time I was here" I commented. "What happened?", I asked as I noticed that the faces looking at me were rather flushed.

One of the ladies explained that Dave had been showing off his quick draw with his .38 Special Revolver the previous night when it had accidentally discharged sending a round through the table and mezzanine before ricocheting off the concrete floor and out of the open emergency door which was open at the time because the third co-worker was down there having a smoke outside as was his custom. It had been purely good fortune that the round had not wounded or killed someone.

"Hard to explain, but I'll show you in a minute... got that ammo?" Dave says. "Give me your firearm, I'll sort it out" I said. I didn't want him behind me with a gun which may or may not be loaded, I told him that we would worry about the ammo issue later, first I wanted to know what the heck was going on.

After handing his firearm over he led me through the back door into the department store, down through the isles and downstairs toward the children's department and as we were nearing the toy section I was wondering "Don't know how many times I've told this fool not to draw his weapon every time he attends an alarm activation. What the heck could this idiot possibly have done with six rounds from this .38 Special?... one round... maybe another AD (accidental discharge) but six?.... there is nothing accidental about that... no way!". As Dave is about to take a right turn into the toy section he taps his foot twice, stops and points down the isle to an eight foot Grizzly Bear standing there with it's arms akimbo... "So what?" I said.

"This is a pressure mat" he says as he taps his foot again, and begins to demonstrate how the Bear had moved and growled at him on his arrival. Dave had almost lost control of his bowel and bladder as he had raised his firearm and spent every round at this huge monster that he was sure was about to devour him. Well! .. I'm sorry but I simply lost it.... I was falling about and laughing almost hysterically. The thought of big bad Dave emptying his revolver into this oversized toy was just too funny for words. I think that it was relief that he had not killed the cleaners or night fillers or some tradesman... that had me in hysterics. Certainly there was nothing funny about shooting up the toy section of a very prestigious department store in the middle of the night but thank God no one was injured.

"How are we going to explain this!" demanded Dave. "WE!....WE! How the hell did this become WE! you bloody moron!" I demanded. I was a company man through and through, though many would argue otherwise so my mind was racing, "How the heck am I going to fix this?, if I just walk away and drop this fool in it the company will lose the contract for sure" I thought.

I called the control room from a land line, well aware that all call's were recorded and explained that we would be delayed for some time due to a technical fault and would require a particular technician who we shall simply refer to as BN to assist us. The control room operator arranged for BN to attend our location explaining that I had specifically stressed that no other technician had the skills required for this particular fault.

BN repaired the wiring of the Grizzly bear as best he could while Dave glued back tufts of fur. In the meantime I used polly filler expropriated from the hardware section to repair the holes in the wall caused by the through and through rounds from Dave's revolver and by 03h00 we had everything back to normal..... well almost... apart from a slight stutter from the Grizzly Bear. I thanked BN for his time and trouble, had his assurance amongst chuckles that the incident would not be reported. I sent Dave on his way with an empty holster and much protesting, as I called clear of the site with the control room via radio. The client never mentioned any issue and our company was never the wiser.

Dave never carried a firearm again whilst we were both employed by the same Patrol division.

Mitchell

I have a large number of very good friends because I like people and they for the most part find me interesting. I tend to have a fairly unique take on life in general or so I'm told, I have had very many interesting experiences this I do know and there have been many occasions when God has blessed me exceptionally  - my 'extraordinary luck' to those of doubtful faith. 

Along the way in this extraordinary and very marvellous life I have made some very exceptional and extraordinary friends, one of whom was Mitchell. We were very young, seven I believe... possibly younger when we first met in a little town called 'Wankie' (an unfortunate name for a coal mining town). Wankie is located in the north west corner of what once was Southern Rhodesia, known today as Zimbabwe where even the names of many towns such as Wankie have been changed, or rather translated to Shona for the most part. That particular area was very rich in minerals such as coal and tin but a very hot and dry climate. 

Mitchell lived down the road from us along with his four brothers and parents. Edith, Mitchell's Mom had polio as a child and this had effected one of her legs causing her to walk with a pronounced limp. 'Aunty' (the term used in those days for all adult female family and friends) Edith was a beautiful soul, she had a heart of gold and became good friends with my mom.

My father worked as a telegraphist on the Rhodesia Railways at the time but I think Dad met Mitchell's dad (for the life of me I cannot remember Mr C's christian name so I'll simply refer to him as 'Mr C') through the church or 'Kingdom Hall' as the Jehovah's Witnesses prefer to call it. My father was ... and is to this day a staunch JW as is my youngest brother, Dan. Ronnie and I are 'Born Again Christian's', Brothers Guy and Shane don't belong to any particular faith 'Bush Baptist' being their preferred term so when we were recently reunited after 30 years, you can just imagine the ground rules that needed to be put in place in order to prevent lengthy debate's on theology. A whole book could be written on this subject alone so this will be left for another time.

The commonality between Aunt Edith and mom were that neither worked or belonged to the JW faith, both wanted daughter's but only had son's and only lived a few houses apart. Mitchell was the third son and at my age so we were in school together. We formed a pretty special bond as I think most kids at that age do. So of course it stands to reason that when Dad was posted back to Bulawayo (since the introduction of teleprinters his position was becoming redundant) I was pretty devastated as any eight year old would be. New home, new school, new church, no friends but as Dad said, I'd be closer to my cousins both older and younger and new bonds would be formed... and they were over time. Our first day in our new home, second youngest brother Shane fell face first out of a tree in the front garden onto a half drum, made a mess of his mouth which caught the rough cut edge of the drum... neither Shane nor I were strangers to this type of accident but... what a start to our new life.

We just couldn't seem to settle down, we moved house and changed schools a fair bit over the following months until we wound up at Marula Ave in Sauerstown at about the same time as Mitchell's family arrived as if by some miracle on the same street, on the same block but at the other end. Mitchell and I were in the same class at the same school, 'Hugh Beadle', only a block from where we lived in this old renovated hotel and life was grand. We had an interest in pigeon's and wanted to try racing them but would start with homing pigeons.

We managed to acquire this rather flea bitten old brown homing pigeon from one of the older boys in the school by trading comic's and a pocket knife for it.... yay! we had our first pigeon... now where on earth would we keep it. Since I lived in the neat old hotel with fourteen bedrooms and it even had a room enclosed with chicken wire (our bicycle shed) we would put the bike's in another room around the side of the main building and turn the bicycle shed into our pigeon breeding coup. Convincing mom and dad that this was a good idea was a little daunting so we went ahead and rehearsed our reasoning and our foolproof plan to keep our families away from that terrible 'skid row' that the oldies were always talking about. Of course our excited and breathless delivery of the 'plan' was met with much scepticism but delighted enthusiasm.

If we could show that we would take care of these new pets faithfully and diligently, then yes we would be allowed to keep and breed pigeons however, we were not to get our hopes up for great wealth as it was doubtful that our enterprise would generate much income if any for .... well at least a long, long time.

We did just as we promised over the following few junior school years and our dad's encouraged us to such an extent that each built breeding coups for us in the corner of our respective yard's to house our pigeons which we went on to breed and cross breed. We had Fantail's, Bohemian Croppers, Blue Tumblers, Chinese Nasal Tuft's..... as well as at least ten squab's amongst fifty birds. We would often move all the birds from one coup (loft) to the other for cross breeding and since Mitchell had the biggest and best breeding hutches they would spend most of the mating season at his loft.

I was about 12 years old when one evening, while I was tending to some minor repairs on my coup (the pigeons were over at Mitchell's coup) when I heard Mitchell sobbing as he ran up to me.... Something about being sorry, Mitchell's dad and pie... I ran over to his house with Mitchell, with that sick hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach becoming more and more pronounced the closer we got to the coup... There were feathers everywhere and spattering of blood over the coup but not a single bird in sight. I felt absolutely gutted and I could see that Mitchell was in a worse state than me... We hung onto one another and bawled our eye's out, there were a lot of things that died that night beside pigeons.

This event drew Mitchell and I closer together but little did I know that within a few weeks something far more devastating would take place. Stephen (one of Mitchell's younger brothers) received a new bike from Mr C - his dad, for doing well at school. We would all take turns riding each others bike's and on this particular afternoon we were going over to the "B's" family home on Beech Ave about a block and a half from Mr C's house, Mitchell was riding Stephens bike while Stephen and I ran along side (I used to love running as did Stephen). 

We had collected the comics after a little procrastination. Mitchell had the comics as he climbed onto Stephens bicycle. Both Stephen and I were running after Mitchell yelling at him to give us the comics, all of us wanted first choice so whoever had the comics in hand.... a bird in hand is worth two in the bush. Mitchell was a good 20m ahead of us trying to get away as we chased after him when the Sauerstown Omnibus overtook Stephen and I but Mitchell was losing control of the comics.... the bike began to wobble as Mitchell tried in vain to regather the slipping comics. 

The blood runs cold as I recall the screech of tyres, punctuated by a slight popping sound... Mitchell had disappeared for a moment, the bus lurched and all of a sudden we were kneeling beside Mitchell who was laying at an odd angle on the road. Comic's were scattered all over the road, the bicycle was caught up in a twisted tangle under the bus... everything was still and quiet as though frozen in time, I tried to lift Mitchell's head but my hand seemed to sink into a ... something mushy as Mitchell's eyelids flickered and he said something inaudible. A part of me was lost forever as I watched the life fade from my best friend's eye's. 

In memory of Mitchell. (Sorry that I could never bring myself to visit your family after the funeral).

Bonnie Ronnie

This morning as I woke, beside the birds singing outside my bedroom window, I heard the unmistakable sounds of 'Radar Love' by Golden Earring emanating from the radio ever so faintly. I like to keep the radio playing beside me while I sleep, I often wake to discussion or debate during the early hours - Ravi Zacharias in particular fascinates me with his philosophical perspective on Christianity and Atheism. I digress.

Anyway the sound of this very familiar old tune reminded me of the night that I met my Bonnie Ronnie, Saturday night the week end before Easter 1975 if I'm not mistaken. I was at my favourite venue for the three things that interested me most in those days, birds, booze and tunes - not necessarily in that order. The night club on the corner of 13th Ave and Grey St had many names such as 'Talk o' the Town' and 'Electric Circus' it was however known by most as 'The Zoo' for the Party Animals who frequented the night spot.

That particular Saturday night I was enjoying a few 'Shumba' (Lion Lager), my poison of choice at the time whilst scoping the talent from the edge of the dance floor and listening to the band play (can't remember which band but it wasn't Golden Earring unfortunately however the live bands were always very good I must say).

After about half an hour I spied in the deepest darkest corner of the club a dark haired lovely in a pale corduroy full length dress which appeared to be hugging some rather svelte curves. I watched her for a while since she was alone, a table full of drinks in front of her would indicate that she was playing wall flower by choice while her friends party. Definitely worthy of closer inspection - besides I wanted to dance and shake it up a bit.

Anyone who was familiar with 'The Zoo' would remember that there were comfy benches along the walls and cut down wooden wine barrels that served as table's with the small kegs and pouf's that served as seating. This arrangement in the disco lighting was an effective obstacle course for would be suitors and served the wall flower well as it would thwart the well intoxicated. Now I had a reputation for over consumption of the amber fluid but I want to stress here that I was nowhere near intoxicated at that early stage of the evening. 

On arrival at Bonnie Ronnie's table I went to lean over so that she could hear me when I accidentally placed one foot on the edge of one of those damnable poufs. As I shifted my weight to move my foot the pouf flicked out from under me and I lurched forward sweeping the table full of drinks ahead of me as I slid across the table landing on the bench with my head in Bonnie Ronnie's lap. She squealed with both arms raised as she tried in vain to push herself backward and away from me. She was soaked and smelled like a brewery, her beautiful dress ruined.... and I - well I had done my dash here. 

Ronnie recovered a little and rather impolitely insisted that I remove myself from her lap, "Get OFF ME" she yelled repeatedly. Well I had nothing to lose and I'm a stubborn and persistent bugger at the best of times so I flatly refused until she would agree to dance with me. It took a good few minutes of persuasion with, "I'm comfortable and I like it here, the view is great and I'll only move if you promise to dance with me." before Ronnie capitulated and agreed. We danced to 'Radar Love' which was playing while the band was on a break. As soon as the song was over Ronnie tried to make good her escape but I stuck to her like bubble gum to a blanket and the rest is history.

My Bonnie Ronnie (Veronica)

A few years ago I put a little video tribute together for the love of my life which I'll share here.

Trade Fair

I woke this morning to a glorious sunny day with the birds singing outside my window. This morning reminded me of life as a teenager back in Bulawayo, Rhodesia and in particular 37 Spreckley Road North End... our home. Those teen years were wonderful, were they not?

It was 1974, I was on leave from the army about halfway through my National Service (which BTW I think is great for all our youth, teaches self discipline and real life skills amongst other things) and the Trade Fair was on again. Bulawayo had an international trade fair every year and grounds well set aside specifically for all of the exhibitors. The venue was located on Hillside Road and bounded by 15th Avenue and Borrow Street to the West, Centenary Park to the North and the Speedway Track on the East.

Anyway I'm probably in this reminiscent mood today because I finished an illustration (composite from photographs and hand sketches) of my parents yesterday while taking medication for a uniquely African illness called 'Bilharzia' a flat worm like blood parasite which can only be contracted from direct exposure to infected and untreated fresh water  such as rivers, lakes or dams. Thinking of Africa of course always invokes memories of the good times and of family and friends. 

Today was one of these days, with the breaking dawn streaming a slivered shaft of golden light through my open window and the sparrows chirping so gaily. Their shadows danced along the shaft of light where it made the golden glow of the cedar bookshelves reflect in flashes of colour around the room. A glorious morning and I was transported back in time to an Autumn Saturday at age 18. I remember laying in bed till well after 8 am just watching the shadows of the sparrows dancing in the shaft of light reflecting off the mahogany bookshelves, as I listened to the singing sparrows. Enjoying the fact that I could lay in for a change. I would surprise my girlfriend Shirley before taking her for Brunch at the La' Gondola Restaurant - little did I know that it was I who would be getting the surprise as I discovered that I was playing second fiddle. Poor Shirley, lost the love of her life that day as I wasn't the only one surprised.

It was a Saturday, I was on pass from the army, just lost the girlfriend and the Trade Fair was on, of course I went home in my VW Purple Morris 500 station wagon and cried to mama. I probably would never have admitted this till today, would've spoilt my image as a macho man.

Mom asked me to take her to the Trade Fair, I guess to take my mind off Shirley and I agreed, I must say we had an absolute ball in Luna Park. My Mom loved the thrill of the rides, the scarier the better... hell she used to get me to take her for rides on my motorcycles and nothing was scarier than that! I wrote off three of the things, was on a first name basis with hospital emergency staff as I couldn't go six months without busting myself up.

Whilst we were waiting in line for one of the rides at Luna Park who should come along but a bunch of the fella's that I was serving with ("Oh no!", there goes the macho image I thought - bugger!) I hoped that they wouldn't recognise me out of uniform... no such luck, they spotted me instantly. "Hey! Platypus ( a term of endearment - NOT!) gonna introduce us to your bird", says Tom. "She's better looking than your last one" John quips. More banter as half a dozen guys try to crack onto my Mom while they all think she is my new squeeze. When the guys moved on my Mom gave my arm (which she had been hanging onto all evening) a squeeze with delight as she said, "Thanks for not telling them I'm your mother - it makes me feel wonderfully young again". That night I realised that my Mother was a very attractive lady and my Dad was a very lucky fellow. It would be several months before the truth came out as I invited these same fellows to a party at our house for a bit of R & R.

What a great Saturday that turned out to be!

Mom.