As the winter season approached we prepared ourselves for the next phase of our Australian life. I would be going to North Queensland two months, but the rules did not permit my wife to come with me, even though she was pregnant with our first child. The crew, Eddie Polak, party chief, myself. and Charlie Braybrook and Jack Piggot the technicians. Our first stop was Mount Garnet, a mining town in The Atherton Table lands, where we stayed in Lucey’s hotel run by Erin and Sheila Lucey. It was a mining community attached to an alluvial tin dredging operation, and we were looking for an extension to the alluvial deposits. Luceys naturally had a bar with extremely flexible opening Hours as it was a mining town, and we soon fitted in as regulars as we could not have been accompanied by purer Aussies than Jack and Charley. Most days after our evening meal we worked on the days survey results and then retired to the bar for night cap. I had made it known that I was trying to photograph wild life, and periodically some one would come into the bar with a wriggling sack of wild life, normally snakes. This way I temporarily obtained a rock python a green tree snake, which I erroneously thought was non venemous, 3 smallcaroet snakes and a bat. The bat was most fun as it hung from my finger until I took it the kitchen, and it took off doing circuits and bumps over the screaming Luceys hiding under the table.
On Sunday nights when we were not working we spent time in the bar and I used to com[ose ridiculous verses about the area which amused the Luceys and the locals.
By this time I had to a great extent adapted myself to the style of a rural Aussie, masking my Pommie accent. Most of the people one met working casually in the bush were immigrants so as long as you dressed improperly there were no great problems in being credible. As an illustration, we happened to be in the bar at lunch time one day when a car with a camper trailer pulled up outside. (I should point out that Mount Garnet was about 40 miles into the tablelands from Ravenshoe, which was a proper town.) A man got out and came into the bar and he was wearing no shoes, he told us his wife kept them in the car so he would not run away. He was on his long service leave and hoping to find out what the real Australian outback was like. There were maybe a dozen men in the bar, all appropriately dressed for a part with Crocodile Dundee, as an established raconteur I could not resist. I asked him where he had come from, and he said he had just come from Ravenshoe, I expressed surprise that the road was open. He asked why and I explained that the tall trees by the road were Iron Bark gums, and we had an invasion of dingos the size of brumbies (wild horses) that were lifting their legs against the iron barks, causing. them to rust and fall down and they had been blocking the roads in the the area. I then asked where he was going, and he said Cloncurry, which was about 150 miles beyond where we were. There was much head shaking among the locals in the bar, and I explained that the direct road was probably closed by the fallen Iron barks, but he could get through if he took the detour at the edge of town and drove an extra 20 miles. We all went out of the bar to see him off, and he did take the detour!
Eddie Polak was originally Polish and was an officer in the Polish army when Germany invaded Poland, he esaped to England and served out the rest of the war as he put it ” The only Polish officr who could not sing” He completed his interrupted geological and geophysical studies at Birmingham University, and then came to Australia.
Charley Braybrook and Jack Piggot were both some kind of technician in the Australian Air force I believe. Both enthusiastic consumers of alcoholic spirits, but experts technically. If they were both drinking at once it created a problem.
A tale of two outhouses
When we bought the house in Carrum, it had an outside loo
Which was I’ll say for both of us, an experience quite new.
A little bit nerve wracking when you went out in the night
In case you should encounter those wriggly things that bite
Honey man came on Thursdays and replaced the can,
A task of course requiring a very special man.
I thought I’d have a septic tank installed at least I’d try
But they refused it as the water level in the ground was far too high.
I waited till we had a drought and when they came again,
They reluctantly approved it, we could stay dry in the rain
They were right about the water, before we left for good
The water was above the ground throughout the neighbourhood.
We went to Ayr in Queensland far enough away
And I would be there long enough for family to stay
Judy had arrived by then so of course she came too
And once again encountered a splendid outside loo.
The front of it was open, but the inside screened from view
By a trellis with some vines on it, and often tree frogs too
The first time that you saw them it came as a surprise
As you sat in the dunny watched by froggy eyes
A pawpaw tree beside it gave another food
The giant fruit bats loved it, at dusk they found it good
So as you finally decided to head out to the can
Something flew before you with a several foot wingspan.
The water was a problem too, a windmill and a well
Open for about 8 feet as far as we could tell
The problem was a circumstance that made an awful din
When the neighbour’s piggy found it and carelessly fell in.
Way back in years, when we were young,and generally light hearted
We showed up an altar to say we’d not be parted,
Some older so called wiser heads said back in the past
They’re far too young to marry, the wedding cannot last.
The honey moon was quite a change, the wife was made to cook
For the husband’s fellow students at whom she had a look
A Pakistani was the first, an Indian and a Turk
An Iraqui and Nigerian who shared her husband’s work,
A geophysics field trip as complex as could be,
While Tim was doing surveys to get his MSc
And Sheila was the cooking star, her dishes all were taken
Though diets were a little strange, marmalade with bacon.
Sheila fully qualified, in Stourbridge went to teach
While Tim worked on his thesis just within his reach.
We had a flat in Birmingham on the bottom floor
With access to a garden, who could have asked for more
My brother came to visit together with his wife
Wed a year before us but now attached for life
I fear I have to tell you they did not like our house
When Sylvia discovered their couch contained a mouse.
With studying and teaching we were somewhat perplexed
As to what would happen later, where would we go next.
Should we stay in Britain or should we take the chance
Of travelling together on some wilder global dance.
Our job search was a brief one, our request was not a failure
I was offered a position to go out to Australia..
In these days such a journey would get you there by plane
In a cramped and stuffy cabin, 30 hours of pain
But this was in the old days before that came to pass.
They put us on a liner, and booked us as first class.
Three weeks of fancy menus and lots of fancy wine
Paid for by our dining friend working for the line.
Most of the first class cabins were taked by the old
The rich and also famous, thats what we were told
The few of us, much younger were by social leaders trained
To take part in activities to keep old ones entertained.
Sheila starred in deck quoits, but then got a surprise
She was playing with an Indian and told it was unwise
Tim used his fastest bowling in a match against the crew
And brought them to submission an experience quite new
It brought an invitation for when we got to shore
To try out for a major club which would be quite score.
The vessel docked in Melbourne, they met us at the quay
And took us to hotel for a day or two or three
We had only just arrived and still not unpacked our cases
When a pen pal of Sheila’s took us to the races.
Explaining thatb the nation for the day would be shut up
While everyone was listening to hear the Melbourne Cup.
We went there in a fancy car with cool conditioned air,
It appeared this girl’s father was indeed a millionaire
He also had horse to race that he assured me had to win
So I should make a wager unless it was a sin
We watched them race all afternoon, sweating in the sun
Waiting for the moment he said his horse would run.
The time arrived they all set out, racing round the track
And from the start to finish his horse was at the back
Returning to our residence his excuses he expounds
It seems his loss was quite a lot, about ten thousand pounds
In Melbourne town there was another,
Sheila’s step mothers brother
And through his efforts we soon found
A place where we could go to ground.
While our search took off apace
To buy ourselves a living space
Estate agents were so slick
We bought a house but far too quick.
The place in which we would remain
An hour from town by crowded train
But then quite soon we thought that maybe
We were going to have a baby.
Christmas time was coming and we could cry hooray
And move into our residence just on Boxing Day
At Christmas time down under some rules must be obeyed
Like eating roasted turkey at a hundred in the shade.
And for a pregnant Sheila this one thing I must say
Was a challenge that she had to face upon that Christmas Day.
Step uncle came in early to take us in his car
Where everyone was gathered it wasn’t very far,
Then women to the kitchen and cook the dinner there
Men back to vehicle and to the pub for beer.
We came back for our mealtime, the turkey and plum pud
With all those women working, no wonder it was good.
After lunch there was a toast offered by our kindly host
Saying welcome to Gods Own country sport,
and we suppressed a rude retort.
When the meal was over things went a little far
Women did the washing up, the men back to the bar.
We came back in at tea time after all that beer
And Sheila mumbled to me “get me out of here”
She’d held up pretty well so far but as we closed the door
She said thank God its over, I can’t take any more.
She said it very clearly, she said it with some force
And I knew a repetition would lead to a divorce.
On Boxing Day our things arrived as we had planned ahead
The temperature was 105, Sheila stayed in bed.
Things would change within the month, the new year underway.
We went off to Tasmania for my first seismic survey.
As it was only one state off the rules said, this is true
If you travel for a month, your wife can travel too.
So while spent my time encamped beside a mountain peak
Sheila stayed in sad hotel in infamous Mole Creek.
The daily rate was reasonable it could have been much more,
But then they might have cleaned off all the blood stains on her door
Her daily walks through Tassy bush revealed some native life
Like Platypi, and parrots, a pleasure for my wife.
We kept in touch by radio, with a Flying Doctor set
Which had one tricky consequence we can not forget
Because I was transmitting from up 4000 feet
My transmissions were quite clearly heard by the local fishing fleet,
A response came, glad you love her, nice to hear your views
But we tuned in not to hear from you but for the weather news.
This trip would soon be over and we’d go back again
To our nest in Carrum, our second trip by plane
I go back to the office to try to get a grip
Of all the things I meant to know before a future trip.
This time its to Queensland, and that’s two States away
I’ll have to leave my pregnant wife at home where she must stay.
I’m sure she’ll find some neighbours to chat while I’m not there
Like the football players wife and the cow that strays quite near
And the guy who lives two doors away fought at Gallipoli
He also was the hangman, but at least he has TV
We didn’t have a car back then, but Sheila learned to drive
Going to a driving school to learn how to survive.
It was from the Police Station that she passed her driving test
And almost clipped another car before she came to rest.
She had a pack of Brownies entrusted to her care.
And she met with them weekly, her experience to share.
Normally the meetings were an hour, not more
But one was much extended by a deadly snake, parked outside the door
Another day the meeting ended quite differently than planned
When some very windy weather got completely out of hand.
They had to leave the building, they really could not stay,
They fled into their parents cars before it blew away
The fund raiser
Have you been to a fund raiser recently
I was out to attend one last night
I try to not attend them too frequently
As somehow they don’t seem quite right
The guests are all there in their splendour
Donating their cash and their time
Generous too to surrender
Themselves to a cause so sublime
There’ll be speakers who tell the objectives
Of the people who’re running the show
They’ll be grateful to us all selective
Who could choose and be willing to go
There also may be an auction,
Silent or run by a star
Who’ll sell, off some weird concoction
Like a licence to hold a bazaar
I wonder, and my payment pauses
How the beneficiaries feel
When the amount that goes to good causes
Is no more than what goes on the meal
The mail box
If you once sent some money supporting
A charity that you admired
You’ll find that they keep on reporting
That further donations required
They’ll send you letters suggesting
You could send them money each week
Or else use your money investing
In gifts they include as they speak
Like calendars notebooks and labels
Socks and bags for your gear
I’m surprised how they are able
To pay for the postage each year
Any article on healthy aging can be assumed to speak positively of the impact of exercise, but sadly tends to admit to the downside of the same thing. To explain my position I am an 86 year old with an 85 year old wife. We are both committed, more or less, to exercise. In my youth, by that I mean prior to reaching 60 years of age, I was an avid runner. I discovered the marathon in 1978 and undertook massive mileage in preparing for one race after another. Unfortunately that was before the foot fetishists of the the running world invented fancy shoes for running, and you could move from race course to squash court, tennis court, or yacht without changing your sneakers. Up to 100 kilometres a week in tennis shoes was not a good idea, so it is not really surprising that my knees said to me in 2000, stop running. So I switched to a bicycle.
That was not the end of it. As time went by, even going up and down stairs was a painful knee challenge. The only solution was to find a way to live on one floor. The house had to go, as descibed elsewhere, (see Moving on) this proved surprisingly easy to do. We have two bederooms in the apartment, and because my wife hs the fallacious belief that I snore we have one each for sleeping. My wife has the larger room, so in there we have a stationary bicycle for me to ride on and one of those treadmills for Sheila to walk on. In front of the two of them is an “intelligent TV screen” . This shows Murder She Wrote when my wife is alone on the treadmill. or Dad’s Army when I am on the bike. 8:30 to 9:00 am will normally see this going on when I am willing.
We have coffee at 10 am, and then Sheila heads out for another hour on the trails or with a friend while I vegetate. After lunch, weather permitting we will go out in the car and I will ride my real bicycle while Sheila hikes again. If the weather does not permit we head for the YMCA’ where we spend anhour on appropriate machines and in the steam room.
After our evening meal Sheila will, head out for a walk round the third floor accompanied by various neighbours of varying capability for half an hour or so. She then adds up her days mileage, something in the order of 11 kilometers, which in my opinion is more than enough.
Sheila is in training for a 5 kilometre race, I am not, the main outcome is somewhat painful and advantageous to Voltaren.
This has been a typical unusual March Break week. Snow dissappearing with temperatures up to 15 degrees, followed by a return of snow for an unknown period. Far too many activities for your aging author, particularly as they were changing rapidly as the week progressed. Challenging use of advanced technology leading to near disaster. Children and other descendants in various parts of the globe up to their miscellaneous preferences and various strange activities.
First to me. I had in a moment of aberration agreed to make a presentation on the subject of geocaching and orienteering to a mysterious organisation called. the Mature Pesons Network. Unfortunately in the move from our 4 bedroom house to a two bedroom apartment, all of the associated bits and pieces and history related to these two activities had been abandonned as being irrelevant to our present physlcal condition. Fortunately the internet came to the rescue and Mr Google directed me to the local organisation and a series of instructional videos on YouTube. I also from the same source tracked down some of the materials that are used for demonstration purposes. I had originally assumed that I would simply prepare a Power Point presentation on chip, but I realised that it made more sense to base my presentation on a overview illustrated by excerpts from the net, book marked on my computer. I had been told a screen with an HDMI connection would be available so I sallied forth to present. It was a very large and very pretty screen, but it was tending to disconnect itself quite frequently until the cable connecting it was tied down. When I tried to connect my computer to it, my computer appeared to be frozen. This meant of course that I had to search out each of the You Tube clips I wanted to use separatley . Fortunately about 20 minutes in someone got my computer unfrozen, so I did manage to get my book marks back, and audience thanked me very politely at the end.
To change the subject, wednesdays can be very busy. Alternate weeks I meet with a group at breakfast for what is largely a
political discussion at 8 am, this week my wife Sheila needed the car at 9:30 so that she could go for a run at the Rink before I met with my Wednesday lunch group, a little but not much less political than the breakfast group, it took an hour for my food to arrive and when I got home it was warm and sunny so we went out in the car to a spot from which I could bike and Sheila could run. In the evening it was my turn to pay for dinner so we went out again.
Thursday should have been quiet except for the fact that I had a blood test rescheduled to take place at 7am, just as the overnight ice rain turned to snow. The hospital parking lot was an ice sheet. On the plus side I was third in line waiting for the machine that issues tickets to become operational, and when it did the two younger men told me to go ahead of them, hence I had tickdet 01 and first place in the line up for vampires. Even better, when I left the parking lot the kiosk had not opened so I did not have to pay.
The week really started on the Friday of last week, when one of my middle daughter Robin’s acquired children’s wives gave birth to our fourth great grand child. She had been in labour for 24 hours before the acual birth, so we did not end up with a great grand son with a birthday only every four years. She had peviously arranged to take two of her other grandchildren winter camping at the week end, but wolves killed a deer near the planned camping location, so the had to move the event to a less rural environment. A good time was still had by all, judging from the pictures.
On the Sunday before youngest daughter was careering round Tokyo for the Tokyo Marathon, the climax of a two week visit, though she stayed an extra week afterwards so that he husband could go skiing and she could visit the snow monkeys. The picture is not of me, but one of the apes.
In the mean time, oldest daughter now recovered from two months with her husband in Laos and adjacent lands, was preparing herself for a weekend at a biking show in Toronto, but whether riding, showung or selling I am not clear.
Other people also have strange tastes. As I went out to the car at6:40 am in the snow on thursday morning, our building’s computerguru was having her first cigarette of the day by my car.
I am now in my 86th vegetarian year, or at least malo lactic vegetarian year, living quite contentedly on a diet that keeps me firmly away from red meat, but has no religious or ethical significance. I love vegetables and eat an awful lot of them, which Is why I have been interested to note the growth of vegan options on restaurant menus, as I would expect them to suit me. The other night, when it was my wife’s turn to choose our date night dining spot, I was interested that she selected a vegan restaurant, as she is by no means a vegetarian or vegan. The appearance of the place, which shall remain nameless, as I am sure they mean well, was distinctly different, the abundance of pseudo spiders webs’, may have had something to do with it. The clientele apart from us was no more than a third of our age, and clearly following a different dress code.
We entered and stood around, but no one offered us a place to sit so we sat at a table, and then realised we would have to go to a counter to order. We found ourselves a menu, and discovered that the principal choice was between Paninis, Warm Wraps, Hot Bowls and Cold Bowls. I know what paninis are, and also what wraps are the issue that remained is the choice of Hot or Cold Bowls. Does the hot/cold refer to temperature or spiciness? Without hesitation, my wife plunged for Coconut Curry: chickpeas, zucchini spirals, root veggies, kale, raisins, and pepitas. They must have forgotten the Coconut. Being braver than my wife, I ordered, also from the hot bowl area a Veta Vegetable Bowl: Zucchini spirals, tomatoes, carrots, sweet potatoes, green lentils, red peppers, and tomato chili sauce. Zucchini spirals for heavens sake, it tastes of nothing anyway so when you spiral it it just leads to spillage and confusion. It had all been chopped up into tiny pieces or served out with a scoop, but everything was still raw. The Hot Bowl was cold.
Is it just me, or is there some giant conspiracy to not cook or undercook vegetables? Is there a giant conspiracy organised by dentists to wear out our teeth on uncooked or partially cooked veggies? Is this a response to the energy crisis, forbidding cooking things properly?
I shall never know, but I shall from now on approach vegan with more caution or open a can of baked beans.
A remarkable collection of surviving relatives in August 2022. Three daughters, three sons in law. one niece and one nephew in law. Four grandchildren, and one great nephew. In addition, but not present, we also have three step grandchildren and four step great grandchildren who joined the family with one of the sons in law.
They are all standing on the dock outside a cottage belonging to one of the sons in law, during a visit from England of my niece and her husband and son.
Some statistical data :
They all have post-secondary qualifications. apart from two who are still at university.
Between them they have run at least 40 marathons, and over 3000 kms in races.
Marathons include London, Boston, Chicago, Ottawa, Prague, Big Sur, Berlin, Tokyo, et.al.
Two, and their mother have won national titles.
Over 100 mountains summited. not including Sheila’s 35 ascents of Mount Katahdin.
Some of them trot the globe for business, others for pleasure.
Some write books, some blogs some take wonderful photographs.
We are very proud of our family, but we do find them exhausting
Earlier posts: “So the time had come to move”, and “Moving on.” have talked about various historic moves and our downsizing operation. After three months in an apartment, how has life changed? Following up on the title of this piece, I no longer have to go up and down stairs. We may be on the third floor, but so far on only one occasion have I had to use the stairs, when someone else was moving large pieces of furniture. It may have involved two flights, but that is nothing in comparison to six or more flights a day at 212 Montgomery. In theory we no longer have a garden. but the children in assisting us to move purchased more plants than we had room for on the balcony, so we moved some of them inside , and we are entering the winter with at least six plants in the living room, and we had an excellent crop of little tomatoes.
When you have lived in the same house for nearly 50 years, you get to see and meet most of your neighbours from time to time as they move into the neighborhood. Moving to an apartment, even if only a couple of kilometers away may result in a separation from other people. We last lived in an apartment in Newfoundland in 1968 and yet my wife and our next-door neighbour at the time, still entertain each other to lunch on their birthdays. Our first three months here at Centre Point seem to suggest that this a friendly place to be, apart from official get together times, Happy Hour on Friday evening, Coffee hour on Thursday morning., It is hard to avoid your fellow tenants. who seem to respond positively whether in the corridor, elevator or parking lot.
It was a little concerning today when I responded to Statistics Canada about the Labour Force Survey, and they said that my apartment did not exist!
It is hard to leave or return to the building without encountering a fellow tenant, and at the very least a greeting appears to be mandatory. I only wish I could remember the names of all those people who seem to remember mine.
In terms of space, we may have a little less than in our old house, but it is much better organised. We have a bedroom and bathroom each (my wife claims that I snore) on either side of the main room which includes the kitchen the dining area and the sitting area. There is probably room for a curling rink, but we have heating facilities, so that will not happen. The main living area with everything else off to one side or the other, no corridors or passages is actually larger than the semidetached house my sister-in-law has in London!
We assume that this is an adult building, at least we have seen no sign of children living here, though we do see the occasional visitor to Mum or granny, some of whom may stay overnight. Two of our children stayed here overnight on inflatable mattresses. The person who showed us round this building asked why we were not going into one of the fully catered buildings, considering our age, to which I responded That I would much rather do my own cookery. It would probably cost us three times as much if we went into one of those buildings, while the rent here would be covered at least seven years with luck, from the proceeds of our house sale. It is not one of the lower cost buildings and the population tends to represent at least a middle-class background. Residents belong to golf and curling clubs, and a surprising number of them write books. Rumor has it we are the oldest couple in the building.
As far as the neighborhood is concerned, it has a lot to offer. The adjacent block on the street has two pizzerias, a fancy dining spot that serves lobster omelettes for breakfast, a Dollarama, a climbing wall, and an African Grocery. Across the road is the Happy Baker, which justifies its name in its choice of bread and pastries, while on the opposite corner is the Superstore, the largest grocery store in town. If we wish to leave, the bus station is just across the street.
On the whole, we are content with the move.
It may be a coincidence, but I am not sure. Some 20 or 30 years ago a second cousin of mine refused to complete the annual census form. She was prosecuted, went to court, and won, Statistics Canada appealed the decision and lost again, the reason being rumoured as due to a not bright enough lawyer. Before we moved out of our house, I received a letter from StatsCan saying as a householder I had been selected to participate in the Labour Force Survey and should expect a call, which never came, I later received a second later saying they could not trace me, so I called them and said I had moved. They then said in that case I was no longer relevant.
After being at my new address for a couple of months, I received another letter saying my address had been selected for the Labour Force Survey, and I should expect a visit or a call which never came. A week later I received another letter saying they had not heard from me, urging me to contact them, which I did with no success. A month later I received yet another letter complaining about the lack of contact, with a code number that had grown from 15 to 26 digits, whatever that means. which finally stirred me into further action. I phoned the number in the sort of threatening letter, and ultimately got through to a human being. She was, I should point out, at all times extremely polite for the 35 minutes we spent on the phone together! The problem appeared to be that we did not exist, at least apartment 309 did not exist, she tried to track us down using postal codes, civic addresses and other means known only to Statscan, but with no success. In the end she said she would have to turn the case over to her supervisor
About an hour later the phone rang again, her supervisor had “found my file”! Why had they been hiding it I wonder? Was it because of my second cousin? She then proceeded to ask me all the sort of silly questions you get asked on surveys to which I dutifully replied. As we finished she said there had been a popup on her computer and she had even more questions for me, which again I replied to. She then said that I would be surveyed monthly for the next few months and did I want to be phoned or use Email. I opted for the Email option; I may not always have 35 minutes to spare.
In conclusion I was impressed by the politeness and persistence of this young lady, it made a nice change from some of the calls you get.
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muffinandbagels 