Under a hotter Sun: Under a Hotter Sun.

Chapter 1

I can’t remember when this idea took place that urged us on, like a tide surging and ripping, to leave everything we held dear. The voices kept whispering that it was time for us to move on. We had fallen for it, we were hopelessly in love with Australia, and nothing could retain us. The southern cross, bluer skies, endless lands held us in its grip via thick bundles of News Papers with pages and pages of tiny script advertising in rainbow colours, blocks of land and houses for sale. We put on rose-tinted spectacles and started packing. We did not bat an eyelid when we sold our house, if anybody had asked for it we would have sold our soul. We were enthralled, captivated, nothing could stand in our way to reach this Southland's shores.

We had our interview at the Australian Embassy. We had our medical examination. We waited and waited and we didn't hear from the Australian Embassy. We did not know if we had been accepted. At the end of August, we couldn't stand this situation any longer. I went by train to Berne to make some inquiries. At the embassy, I had to wait a long time, as I did not have an appointment. My turn arrived and I explained why I was here. The dark-haired, Australian girl who assisted me said:” Wait a moment” and disappeared. After a while, she returned, smiled and waved our passports and said here are your entry visas, just like that, no fuss at all. I was perplexed. I did not know what I expected. It was so easy just like here is your breakfast. I took the passport with the precious visa and sat down to read the entry. It said: Visa for Australia then followed the visa number, the type of visa and the date of issue, the 28.8.1974 and the period of stay said indefinite so we could stay forever! I was so thrilled and happy to receive the entry visa to Australia. I wanted to skip and sing when I left in high spirits the Embassy building. I looked for the next Telephone box and rang Peter to tell him the good news and we told each other how fortunate and joyful we were. We were very lucky indeed as from the first of September Australia did not take more migrants for this year as they had reached the set quota of 110’000 people until the end of 1974.

We booked quickly our cabin on the Galileo Galilei, as not much time was left to do so and our adventure began.

We had letters, ¼ acre of land, room for a tennis court, one block from the beach, this was definitely not for us we wanted more. We had dreams of the real thing, farmland!

On the map we travelled and crisscrossed the continent poring over charts of grazing land, rainfall and temperature, not realising we were like kids running free. The continent was vast and strange, unknown to us, but we worshipped on its altar with our enthusiasm, our urge to embrace and love this land of dreams.

The children were promised ponies, beaches with silvery sands, jewels to play with!

Our promise was freedom and a life neither of us had experienced. Every day would be unexplored, our minds were open to negotiating any hurdles.

The final voyage of the Galileo Galilei to Australia was the beginning for our family fascinated by a thousand voices a singsong of hope and expectation.

Ready, to go

We sold our furniture and packed 3 custom made wooden containers with the favoured things we wanted to take with us. We packed carefully three antique, Italian crystal chandeliers; a massive brass, six-armed Dutch light, where would they spread their welcoming glow? In to the containers went rolls of Persian carpets their fine weave and intricate patterns and colours now disguised by lots of white insecticide powder. I carefully wrapped fragile thin, hundred-year-old crystal glasses inherited from Peter’s grandmother; I crossed my fingers and hoped they would survive the journey intact. Fine china and silver cutlery, table and bed linen I did not want to part with went into the containers. I wrapped into soft towels our collection of old copper ware some ancestors had used over open fires to cook and to bake, battered, indestructible, still gleaming, polished to a muted rose gold colour.

I packed all our books and while I filled the container, I got lost leaving through some of my favourite writers, Nicolai Gogol, Richard Llewellyn, Alya Rachmanova, Somerset W. Maugham and Goethe, I like to read from time to time some lines from Faust, I could never leave him behind, “Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it.Boldness has genius, power and magic in it!”

I wrapped those I loved best into tissue paper, the others I just stapled into the box and sprinkled some insecticide powder in between the written words that kept them safe, until they arrived on the other side of the world.

We did not pack mundane, everyday things but the containers were quickly bursting full and Peter fitted and secured the lids. I would have liked to pack much more, favoured gardening tools, watering cans and I would have loved to take three intricately, hand-carved Stabellen {chairs} but it seemed so trivial to pine for small possessions when there were such huge changes in our lives laying before us. The three containers stood prominently in the middle of the empty living room ready to be picked up by Danzas, remained me this was for real we were ready.

For our big hop from Europe to Australia, we had no other choice than the matronly, Galileo Galilei. We received our visas at the end of August. The ship was to sail in the second week of October. When we hastily booked our voyage, all the cabins on the upper decks were already booked out. Somebody had cancelled a cabin on E-deck, it had only four-berth and we were five. We took it, we would manage, and it was only for around five weeks. At this time there were only two ships that sailed all the way from Europe to Australia and the Greek ship was booked out. We wanted our children to see how far away Australia was, that’s why we wanted to travel by ship and not by plane.

The weeks and days came and went; with us busy sorting out our old life and make preparation for a new one. The morning of our departure from Switzerland was here. It was busy, a little unreal too as the Elysian Fields emerged from their shadows!
Danzas had picked up our containers two weeks ago and send them off. They were probably already somewhere on their way to Sydney where they would be stored until we were ready to claim them.
The house was finally sold, though in the endeavour we had to cope with some unforeseen episodes. The first person who arrived to look at the house was a lady. She wanted us to know that she was very rich and that she mainly moved in high society and she was looking for a house as she was in the process of a divorce. She told us more or less her life’s story. She came many times more and said she was very interested and she practically renovated the whole place while she sat on the couch and drank cups after cups of coffee, her blonde wig slightly askew she even asked for something a bit stronger I, fortunately, couldn’t provide. At a time I thought that she might move in with us, as she made herself once more comfortable on the sofa, that was the time when we still had a sofa! Then her visits petered out and we had other people that were interested to buy our house.

A lady who lived in a “chateau” wanted something smaller, she came a few times, yet she couldn’t make up her mind how small the house should be, we saw our house shrinking as she looked it over and over again and in the end, it was too small for her!

Then came a couple that had resided all their life overseas and they couldn’t make up their mind if they really wanted to settle in Switzerland. They never really expressed, that they wanted to buy it, but when we eventually sold the house they rang Peter and told him off, why he had sold the house, as they really wanted to buy it. Later we thought he just wanted to make us soft to drop the price, as they knew we were in a hurry to sell the place.

The next couple had two corgi dogs and said this house and big garden really suited them and they wanted to buy it. But then the husband got cold feet and was not sure if this was the right place. We got very low in spirit as everybody opted out of buying. However, his wife wanted this house badly and she was the stronger of the two. The day of the handover of the property was arranged. We met at the office of the Grundbuchverwalter” the clerk who oversees the signing of the contracts. We sat there and Peter and I and the lady signed but her husband teetered again, pen in his hand and hesitated to sign the contract. Peter and I sat on needles and willed him to sign. His wife gave him nasty looks and said sign now, he didn’t sign until the clerk lost his patience and told him in a very stern voice what for he came to his office if he didn’t want to sign the contract. His wife said again, sign and then he did. Peter and I looked at each other relieved and heaved a sigh that this was over and the house sold. The couple invited us for a meal in a restaurant, we went but we were both not hungry after the strain he had put us through. However, in hindsight, it was all rather comic.

My emotions ran high as I went from room to room, I didn’t kiss the walls, as I knew this was goodbye forever from this house. I still can see the empty rooms. I think the last impression is always the saddest. A last look at the garden, the primulas I had planted I would not see flowering next spring. Resolutely I told myself I shouldn’t linger, this was not Auf Wiedersehen, this was goodby and somewhere would be a new beginning.

Maria and Max and their children, our kind neighbours, invited us for breakfast. They had prepared a feast for us. They also brought us to the station, later on, to wave us goodbye. Promises were exchanged to never forget each other and Maria said that they would visit us in our new country if everything worked out well.

I went to say goodbye to my friend Vreni, we used to mind each other’s children. She hugged me, she was so sad seeing me leave and cried.

A few years later I cried for her, I would never see her again. In deep shock I read a letter from Maria that Vreni had a deadly accident, a drunken man drove his car into hers left her husband a widower and three small children motherless. What a tragedy and sadness had lurked around the corner of their lives.

Chapter 2

In Zurich, we went to the Reisebuero Kuoni to pick up our tickets. We had the whole day as the train to Italy left at 9 pm. We took the children to the Zoo had dinner at the Bahnhofbuffet and then telephoned Peters Cousin Koeby. He and his wife Ruth invited us to their apartment and later he brought us to the station. He did not linger. We had been very good friends and he was very sad to see us leave, perhaps forever.

A few minutes before 9 pm the train we waited for arrived. It was awfully long with many carriages. Hurriedly we searched our carriage number. It happened that our carriage was way in front and no porter was around to help us with our heavy luggage. We ran and dragged our suitcases there was no spare time. Peter carried two and a heavy travelling bag. I was struggling with two and the children pushed and heaved each one. The girls and I struggled with ours, the suitcases lost their shine on platform one at the train station in Zurich and got heir initiation scratches early on their tour around the world. Peter, strong and with long legs was way in front and we saw him shoving and pushing his suitcases into the carriage then he ran back to help us.

We really had to run the train was only to stop a few minutes and as everybody knows trains in Switzerland don’t muck around and wait they leave on the dot. We had not yet stowed the suitcases onto the luggage rack when the train shifted its wheels into motion, leaving the net of intertwined rails of the Hauptbahnhof behind, gained quickly speed and left industrial sites and suburbia behind.

We had a first-class compartment and made ourselves comfortable, as we travelled through the night. The express train made few stops and soon we were through the Gotthard tunnel. I tried to get some last glimpses through the window but the southern countryside was already swallowed by the deep shadows of the night and only silvery ripples revealed a river or a lake.

The train passed famous holiday resorts, bustling in the daytime now dark and sleeping. The train arrived at Chiasso where the border official from Italy came into our compartment and checked our passports. He leafed quickly through the red booklets and handed them back to us, wished us a good journey and left.

The train resumed its itinerary; left Switzerland behind and made its way through the still and moonless Italian countryside towards Milan.

I must have had some catnaps as the night had given way to a washed-out bluish morning light suffused with streaky, pale lemon just to tell me the sun was on its way up. We were rushing through tranquil and green, flat countryside scattered with red-tiled farmhouses behind fortified red brick walls. When the train pulled in at Milan Station a greyish, pallid morning greeted us through the ornate glass roof.

To travel to Genoa and further to Viareggio, we had to change the train. Fortunately, there were porters waiting and eager to help us with our seven suitcases and travel bags. The train to Genoa was already waiting. We scanned the windows for a suitable compartment the porter bravely behind us with our load. In a first-class compartment, we found five empty seats. The porter stashed quickly and efficiently our luggage onto the provided racks above the seats. We paid him and gave him a good tip, he said grazie and ciao, he was a trendy young man.

Our entry caused a bit of a commotion and the three people that were already established in their seats looked up with interest and greeted us with a friendly Buon Giorno, then settled back again.

I sank into the plush, wine red upholstery and glanced discretely at our fellow travellers.

A nun and a priest sat side-by-side, murmuring; their gold leaf prayer books on their lap. One other person was a middle-aged man in a dark suit rather well endowed around his girth. His face was now hidden behind Il Corriere and he had more folded newspapers and magazines stashed beside him.

The train left Milan behind and I looked with interest through the window at the verdant, Lombardian countryside. The morning was well advanced and reluctant skies gave

way to a sun playing hide and seek when my children gave me frantic looks and mouthed we are hungry, no we are near starvation and pointed to the well-filled bag.

I could not ignore longer the pleading faces of my daughters and asked Peter to hand me down the bag filled with the food, as we arrived on a Sunday and we did not know if the grocery stores would be open.

As a goodbye present, I had received a wedge of Appenzeller cheese from the cheesemaker in our village, where we used to buy every day fresh milk and cheese, I had packed to take with us.

I opened the bag and a rather strong whiff of a well-matured cheese escaped. The three people opposite looked up, their noses twitched and appreciatively sniffed the air.

Nonetheless, I was embarrassed and quickly zipped the bag shut before the girls could say a peep.

I ignored their pleading faces and rumbling stomachs and only said curtly we will eat later. The tone of my voice pushed them further into the upholstery with a beseeched look in their eyes that naturally as a mother I must say, left me a little uneasy, as we still had such a long way to travel.

The train made its way into Liguria and I was glad when the train arrived in Genoa. The good thing was we did not change trains, so I quickly dashed out to get some lollies and chocolates at a kiosk to harmonise the unhappy vibes that still floated around the bag filled with food stashed above our heads.

Those who wanted to board it replaced soon the rush of people leaving the train.

Some were still hanging on to doors and leaning out of windows to grab suitcases and parcels when the train without further announcement juddered forth and back, quickly found its wheels and rolled out of the gloomy and sooty station of Genoa.

Those who usually travel by trains know that one must always hurry because the train in which you arrive might be late but the one you have to catch leaves on the dot. This sort of arrangements used to give me nightmares when as a student I had to catch trains every day. But the odd thing is I still love travelling by train best of all. I wished I could travel all the way to Australia just by train!

Gradually the train nosed its way out of the tangle of railway lines along houses build precariously near the railway embankment. Their windows flung wide open thus the travellers could see right into the neat bedrooms, living rooms and kitchens.

Freshly laundered washing strung out from the windowsills waved gaily in the breeze to wish us well on our way.

The train followed now the pleasant Riviera di Levante with its famous holiday resorts. The villas clinging to the steep, hilly coast of Rapallo had a splendid view on the Mar Tirreno.

It was a very enjoyable train journey from Genoa to Viareggio, as I was back in the good books, the children pacified with lollies and chocolates. I could now enjoy the scenery that brought back a lot of memories from the holidays I had spent in this area.

We were glad when we reached our near-final destination Viareggio from there it was only a short taxi drive to Lido di Camaiore. The train did not stop long and we had to hurry to unload our suitcases. With the handling of our luggage, we had become cleverer too. We did not struggle and wrestle them again through the narrow passages, we handed them straight through the windows the way the Italians did. It worked very well and we were soon ready for the last leg of our journey.

We approached a taxi to take us to Lido di Camaiore where we had hired an apartment in the Villino Cinzia for six weeks. The taxi chauffeur surveyed our pile of suitcases and said something very rapidly that in any ordinary situation we would not have understood. But with his gesticulations between our baggage and his car boot we understood quickly that we had to hire two taxis to fit all our suitcases and us.

I had written down the address on a piece of paper that I gave to the taxi driver. He looked at the address, turned around the slip of paper like something more informative would materialise. He called one of his colleagues, and then the two taxi drivers had a lengthy discussion together until finely they both agreed to take us to our final destination to the Via F. Cavallotti eight to ten.

The three girls and I with a couple of suitcases travelled in the first taxi and Peter was to follow with the rest of the luggage in the second taxi.

He drove off with much speed and I turned around to be sure Peter followed us in his taxi. We drove for quite a while when the taxi chauffeur said this is via F. Cavallotti, but he had a problem, he did not find the numbers eight to ten. I told him to stop the taxi and Peter caught up with us and asked what happened. We were perplexed and discussed the non-existence of numbers eight to ten. We wondered, looked around and asked each other did we hire an apartment in a non-existent Villino Cinzia? I asked one of the taxi drivers to go into the next house and seek some information about the reclusive numbers eight to ten. He soon returned smiling and explained that these were all new houses they were only about ten years old and they had not yet got their official house numbers. We were relieved that this mystery was so readily solved. Soon afterwards we were delivered with a flourish and set down before the doorsteps at the Villino Cinzia. The arrival of the two taxis, the commotion of opened and shut doors brought out the caretaker who expected us this day and quickly welcomed us and took charge of our luggage, guiding us up to our home for six weeks.

Villino Cinzia

He took us up to two flights of stairs to our apartment and with a grand gesture, he said:” Ecco”! The apartment was spacious and sunny and had more room than we needed. The children chose under lengthy discussions with each other their room to sleep, organised their clothes, their books and their games in the wardrobes.

At the back of the house from our bedroom window, we had a view on one side to houses and gardens and the other side was still rural undeveloped land.

From here I saw that this was a newer build-up area. The new houses were mainly brick buildings all in the same uninteresting, utilitarian style. The yellow ochre walls of old farmhouses that probably had stood here for centuries had not left a trace.

I liked to observe the daily life of the Italian people, which were our neighbours for a short while. Every day in the late afternoon the Signora from the house opposite sang out for her little son Antonio…Aaantonio…Aaantooonio…Toooonio this went on for quite a while until a dark, curly-haired boy came running with a small troop of girls and boys in tow, under a gush of very fast Italian he was scolded into the house and the other children dispersed.

The living room had a balcony facing the front of the house. From there I looked onto the next house that looked new and well cared for was painted a sunny apricot colour that was also the store where we shopped for our groceries. It was a two-story building with the proprietor living in the apartment above the shop. They had a pretty, quite voluptuous looking daughter in her twenties. In the morning she came out onto her balcony that was in our view, so we watched her at her daily ritual, very flamboyantly she laced herself in a frilly pink corset. When we shopped she sat at the till her black eyes dancing and her black curls bouncing, yet demurely she wore a plain flowery overall but we knew that underneath she wore a lacy pink concoction and I think she knew too that we knew! We named her “Kassa Schaetzli” that meant nothing more than “the darling at the till”; we never knew her real name.

In their back garden stood a beautiful, old Persimmon tree, probably the last tree standing from an orchard that had once been planted there. It was glistening orange, every branch loaded with ripe fruits. Then suddenly, early one morning when I looked out of the window, the tree was emptied from its glowing burden its branches outstretched bare, like in agony begging back for its beauty. The fruits bursting with ripeness were waiting for customers in a big basket in the shop.

At this time of year, in autumn, many Italians hunt. Early in the morning, the mist still hovered and veiled the first rays of a watery sun, I saw “il padrone” from the shop, well wrapped up in his khakis with his gun and his dog hike towards the hills. His dog excited, its tongue lolling ran before him in anticipation of the chase. Sometimes I saw him return with his quarry, a hare or a couple of pheasants dangled from his hands.

From our bedroom window, we looked down on a field, some grassland and a small plot of vegetables. An old man came every day and worked in his field. Every day people threw all sorts of rubbish into his nicely tended vegetable garden. Paper, pieces of plastic, fragments of old iron, broken crockery even the odd bicycle wheel. Every day the old man arrived early in the morning to weed and tend his vegetables and he also cleaned up other people’s refuse that had again accumulated overnight. Slowly and quietly he picked up and placed the garbage in his hand-pulled, small cart he used to transport his gardening tools. We greatly admired his patience.

Outside of our bedroom window, along the windowsill were strung a few washing lines to hang out small laundry bits and pieces. Usually when I was hanging out some small washed items the signora from the next house called a few friendly words in very fast Italian, most of it I did not understand, I usually answered si.. si.. bene.. bene.. come sta... Her greetings became longer and longer, her Italian faster and faster and I tried to keep up with more and more si si and bene bene and come sta until I must have said at the wrong time si si and bene bene as her flood of words were abruptly cut short and she got the hint that I did not have a clue what she talked about, from then on she gave up on me and just called over Buon Giorno signora.

On the ground floor of the villino Cinzia lived the caretaker with his wife, two small boys and the nonna.

At mealtimes, the nonna sat usually in the garden with the youngest boy, still a baby, on her lap. On a small table nearby a colourful majolica bowl was full with big, pale macaroni, which she fed one by one to the chubby little chap who opened his small pink mouth like a hungry bird. In the afternoons when the mother went out for a stroll with the two little boys, they wore very beautiful clothes, soft blue knitted pants and jackets with little white lace collars and tiny white and blue shoes. They looked charming, but I did not think they looked fitted out for the sandpit. I always observed that the Italians when they went out with their children or on Sunday outings they wore beautiful clothes, the little girls usually wore colourful dresses with lace, ribbons and stiff petticoats with matching socks and colourful, well-made shoes in soft leather.

Chapter 3

Spagetti, Tomatoes and Basil.

Every day we went shopping for food. First thing in the morning, the children loved to go down to the shop and get fresh ciabatta bread, butter and jam for our continental breakfast. It happened that the shop never had enough small coins for change so instead of money the girls received lollies as change, and that instigated their eagerness even more. This was the place where lollies were handed out before breakfast. I liked the shop as well, no not for the lollies, apart from groceries they stocked fresh bread, wine, cheeses and all sorts of cured meat and salamis it was wonderful.

We absolutely loved the Mercato for fruits and vegetables. It was held in a cooperative hall where smallholders and peasants from the hills of Camaiore sold every morning their freshly gathered fruits and vegetables. It was only a couple of houses from our apartment so we watched the men and women busily arriving early in the morning with their small trucks, their three-wheelers or even on a bicycle loaded with a couple of trays of figs or tomatoes. It was marvellous, luscious figs rested on their leaves in small wooden boxes each with a sugary drop of moisture showing their ripeness. The Marzano tomatoes ready to be used for salads and sauces accompanied by huge bunches of fresh Basil that scented the air. The peaches, pears and grapes gently bedded and neatly arranged in light, wooden trays their freshness and sweet smell flattered our eyes and noses. When we walked through the aisles the stallholders vied for our attention we were called, hailed and yelled at to try the reddest tomato, the plumpest peach, the juiciest pear and we never resisted. It was such a pleasure to choose amidst all this fresh produce. We always went home fully loaded with fruits, tomatoes and a bunch of Basil.

The cooking was easy; we lived mainly on pasta smothered in freshly made tomato sauce piquant with garlic and shavings of Parmesan cheese. We loved the cured meats and salamis with fresh bread and olives. We indulged in the accessibility of freshly picked fruits that were available every day. I never cooked meat, I did not even think of it. Sometimes we bought a roasted chicken. They were small birds, done to perfection with garlic, oregano, black pepper and salt. We truly had every day a feast with the freshest and simplest of foods.

On one of our leisurely walks along the Lido, we bought some pizzas, but the girls were not impressed with them, as they were just a flatbread crust with a tiny bit of tomato paste smeared over the top with a touch of anchovies. I tried to convince them that this was the real pizza, but all my persuasion fell on deaf ears and bought pizza was definitely out.

1974

Sea and sand, umbrellas and deckchairs, At the Lido, we located our bagnino and were allocated two deckchairs, an umbrella and a changing cabin, which was included in the rent of the apartment. The caretakers were the” bagnino and the bagnina” and their two small children and the Nonna. At this time of year, many holiday guests had already left. It was still pleasant to swim and sunbath at the beginning of September.

The Arab sellers walked up and down the beaches, heavy, colourful carpets slung over their bent shoulders, black eyes scanning the people, to attempt the last sale. Every day came the man to sell drinks, his singsong calls … bibite… bibitaia… were not to be missed. Not far behind, from time to time signalling their arrival by blowing into a bugle, was the baker with his son. Both short and very rotund, the older man limped heavily. Both lugged a weighty basket filled with sugary treats. The girls cried here comes the …Gugabeck…! That is a simple Swiss German word for the baker with the bugle.

An old man showed us his wares, small look-alike alabaster figurines. We pleased him when we bought the three graces of joy, charm and beauty.

Aglaia for Splendour, Euphrosyne for Mirth and Thalia for good Cheer, they brought joy and goodwill to gods and men. The old men wished us well and said he hoped that joy and goodwill would be bestowed on us too.

Gelati, Bomboloni, Martini and Espresso; The children enjoyed the days at the beach. They played in the sand and invented their own games. They loved the still-warm sea and swam and dived like fish. They strolled along the seashore. They went “Sachen suchen” and felt like Pippi Long Stocking looking for treasures. One day they found a whole bundle of lire notes, half-buried in the sand.
They dug for more in the soft sand thinking they were on the trail of a hidden treasure, but there were no more lire buried and they quickly exchanged the money for an inflatable rubber mattress to play in the water.

Peter and I enjoyed sitting in the small courtyard cafes that were strung along the beach, sipping espressos and watching lazily the holiday guests that were still around. I had to abstain from the Martinis, as they gave me a never experienced elation and I usually left my handbag hanging on the chair when I left. From then on, for economical reasons only, four pairs of eyes were scanning the chair I had occupied and when this was satisfied my arms were scrutinized to make sure my handbag was fairly anchored over my arm or shoulder.
The girls had found their favourite spot too. Café Europa was their preferred place. There they received the best Gelati always with a little extra on top and the
Bombolonis sugary and filled with Vanilla pastry cream.

The Mercato was held once a week and the stallholders were out in force selling everything you might be in need of or not. I loved the stalls with handbags. My hands caressed soft pink and sky blue leather made into snazzy purses one could tuck under one’s arm. Eight eyes watched like eagles my every move, ready to pounce. I left the handbags with a sigh and settled for a pair of loafers. The leather was very supple and they were hand-sewn and fitted superbly. I ignored their glares; I had never lost a pair of shoes and kept them on. They were so comfortable I lived in them until they were in tatters and I was only sorry that I had not bought a few pairs more, they had only cost me about thirty Swiss francs.

Lido di Camaiore We always walked to the beach along leafy streets that became familiar in the short time we spend there. The houses we knew only from the front, green shutters, a tiny front garden with the ubiquitous iron fence and trimmed Oleanders still sporting the odd pink or red flower. This was the older part of Lido di Camaiore with small shops and pensione, their vacancy signs swinging forlornly on small, rusty chains. The warm, doughy smell from a Pastizzeria drifted out onto the walkway, embraced us and made us hungry. The Gelataria with its omnipresent blue and white plastic ribbons dangling in the doorway was a drawcard for the children; they wanted to try the greenish gelato with tiny bits of pistachio nuts, or fragole, the smooth pinkish red one with tiny black flecks with the taste of real strawberries. The choice was not easy, there were so many, sorbets glistening white, lemony, dark, creamy chocolate, caramello and many more, they were never able to try them all. The Gelati provided also the spots of colour in the stark, cold room with its black and white tiled floor and its fifties steel furniture that consisted only of a couple of round, bare tables and a counter.
We strolled along Pine groves that had been partly carved up to make room for more development of new homes. We looked for pine nuts hidden amidst thickly strewn needles on the footpath. The soil here was sandy and nothing else was growing except
the pines but I guessed that those left standing for the moment would be next to fall to the axe or probably rather to the chainsaw. It was like everywhere towns were expanding and trees removed at a very fast pace.
By bus, we went up to the hill town of Camaiore. The piazza was surrounded by solid houses leaning into each other with massive stonewalls that had withstood many generations. Old people were sitting on benches and chairs catching the warming rays of the sun and watching the bus loading and unloading tourists who came up to their village to disturb their peace.
We wandered along ancient, trodden pathways, past century-old farmhouses exposing long-forgotten paints from under crumbling masonry, remains of fragile, palest pink or a trace of smooth, duck egg blue. Chickens scratched busily for the oddly forgotten morsel, an old, shaggy sheepdog slept towards nirvana. Here we were a hundred years removed from the new housing estates, the busy Lido; there were no radios or televisions blaring their needless chatter out of windows or doorways.
Calmness and tranquillity spread its warm cloak over our hearts and minds. It was a beautiful place to stay forever, but we were on transit, for a fleeting moment enjoying what was generously bestowed on us. We were onlookers, dream walkers through Chestnut and Olive groves and vineyards sprayed Turkish blue with copper.
In the evening we went back to the piazza to catch the last bus that brought us back to our temporary home.

Chapter 4

1974

An old man showed us his wares, small look-alike alabaster figurines. We pleased him when we bought the three graces of joy, charm and beauty.

Chapter 5

Good by Genoa;The wharf was very busy. The big, white ocean going ship dwarfed the people and everything else. The cranes that had the day before lifted cars and containers onto the ship were removed. Food and luggage was loaded and seamen were crawling over the whole ship like ants performing last important tasks. Lilli made some last photos one of me standing there in my red jacket with the backdrop of Genoa.

Many people, fellow travellers, or residents who just came to watch when a big ocean going ship departs, some came to say goodbye and wish her well on her last voyage around the world, were around standing, waiting and watching. Relatives and friends were hugging, noses were buried in soaking handkerchiefs and last promises to write soon were made. I was engrossed, like in a play watching the hustle and bustle, the busy energy stimulated to a climax.

The gangways were set in place and people started to make their way up into the ship and we were among them.

At the entrance we were welcomed and accompanied to our cabins. The steward took us down by lift and then deeper and deeper along small corridors in different colours, into the ship. The cabins were close together door by door, the corridors narrow; ours had the colour blue. I thought his next move was to bring us to the engine room, as I heard their noise through the walls and we would have to make our beds somewhere between oilcans and discarded rags. Finally he opened the door to a tiny cabin, which to me was like heaven after my imagination ending up in the engine room.

Our suitcases were already there neatly arranged in a row took nearly all the space of our cabin. For the time being we stashed them under the beds. We inspected the cabin, it had four bunks, one wardrobe,

one dressing table and a washbasin, actually all we needed as we wouldn’t spend much time in there anyway. The toilets and showers were just around the corner. After we had checked our temporary sleeping quarters and said hello to our steward, we went back up on deck to savour and look on at the frenzied activity of the last tasks and to watch when the ship steamed out of the harbour. We found our way to the railing and a good spot among the crowds of shoving and jostling people. A voice over the loudspeaker remained the people that the ship was about ready to sail..

There was more scrambling pushing and shouting as people prepared to wave their last good bys.

The gangways were rolled away. A mighty tremor, roars of goodbye, people, a blur of faces, laughing and crying waved their handkerchiefs and we waved back. The ships horn hooted, the tallest chimney puffed ribbons of smoke, confetti and streamers flew through the air and trailed limply into the water, fragments of the Italian Anthem faded away. Silently my last piece of pink paper ribbon glided out of my hands, good by, I didn’t know if or when I would be back. The space between shore and ship increased, left a fine contour on the horizon and finally vanished as in the late afternoon the Galileo Galilei sailed on her destined way.

After all the excitement of the departure we went back into our cabin. I did my housewifely duties that only existed in fishing out the suitcases from under the beds and removing some clothing and underwear and placing them into the wardrobe and drawers. I was enjoying this it was easy work. No cooking, cleaning, making beds etcetera ! I was looking forward to this life of leisure!

The small cabin down in the bowels of the ship didn’t make me feel claustrophobic but also not very comfortable. I had these terrible thoughts how in an emergency we would race through this mace of corridors not finding our way up to the lifesaving boats I had seen neatly stacked at the railings. I would better start thinking of an efficient way to identify our route, in case the lift was out of order. The scattering of breadcrumbs wasn’t very effective as busy sailors good-humoured cleaned them up after me; they knew how to handle an eccentric passenger.

Well, as it turned out the children quickly found their way in and out and around with their radar noses. It was just Peter and I who were the confused ones and bumped into each other from time to time on our search out of the maze. With a vagueness in our eyes, we latched on to each other and followed the blue corridor around corners and long straight stretches, around a few more corners lucky to have escaped once more into the green corridors and from there up and up with the lift into the vastness of the

lobby and reception rooms.

NaplesWhen we arrived in the port of Naples we hadn’t anticipated already a two-day stop. In the morning it was said over the loudspeakers that the ships crew was on strike and nobody was there to look after the passengers. Yet if we wanted to we could sleep on board. We went to see the purser and he gave us a wad of lire to buy our food. It was morning and we left the ship in search for a place to get some breakfast.

I spotted a hotel, faint pink stucco its portal invitingly open, guarded only by an old retainer in a gold braided, sky-blue livery. If we made a dash for it he wouldn’t even notice us! This place was right for me, some class as compensation for our mouse-hole cabin. The concierge did see and acknowledge us when we ventured inside. I thought he had eyes on his back and he probably thought we were just early birds from the hotel or he might have heard there were people from the Galileo on the loose looking for breakfast! Once inside the plush, but empty reception area we entered a large dining room, with a faded grandeur. Crystal chandeliers that needed a good clean and the tables all set with white linen, a little shabby around the edges had crumbs from a previous meal still in situ. We were the only guests there. So, had all the other guests already had a very early breakfast, or were the crumbs from last night’s dinner, or was this sort of a haunted place, as I saw a busy spider webbing up and down from a chandelier. An elderly waiter in a black frock coat approached us from the far back of the dining room. We asked him if we could eat breakfast here. He said yes with a little bow and showed us to a table and then disappeared. After a while he returned with a trolley loaded with fine china, a silver coffeepot, silver jugs with milk and cocoa for the children. We were served a continental breakfast. The croissants had seen better days, yet the coffee was excellent and the waiter was from an other world like the faded elegance of the old hotel.

Besides who lives in this hotel I wondered? Ancient generals who had thought out strategies for wars that fortunately never happened. Old ladies, fragile and helpless looking, still ruling everybody with an iron fist. Steely, old baronesses, still jumping the queue at the grocer? Dapper, retired scientists who still think of theories that could revolutionize the world. A once famous poet, now long forgotten. Italian

aristocrats as faded as the hotel itself?

They are coming down the ornately wrought iron stairs in their starched clothes with haughty faces and terrorize the staff with their never ending demands. They are haunting every floor of the hotel.

Finished with my daydreaming and eaten our breakfast Peter paid a bill that was appropriate to the faded, posh ambiance served with silver spoons. With a last appreciative glance I said goodbye to the lovely stucco hotel and its ghostly guests and we walked out into the early morning sunshine.

We strolled along roads and places awed by this city with its ancient history, its art, anything one can think of it’s there. Naples first University was established in 1224. In the 17th and 18th century Naples was leading in Opera, Aria and also Church music, Scarlatti, Durante, Pergolesi and many more were the leading represents and composers. As a Greek colony it was called Neapolis “New City” it joined itself to Rom in 326 B.C., when Naples was conquered by the Normans it became a kingdom in 1139.

From then on it was fair game for the House of Anjou to the Aragon’s to the Bourbons.

In 1860 Naples was joined to Italy.

In the National museum of Naples one can admire a roman marble copy of Doryphoros a spear-carrier and the bust of Tiberius Claudius Nero second roman emperor with whom Julia was madly in love.

An antique statue of Hercules, he looks quite grim that is understandable when one knows his sufferings. Gaius Julius Caesar, is there too, well his bust. He was a roman statesman, a commander and an author. He was born in Rom one hundred years B.C. He didn’t have a lucky end. He was murdered in the Year 44 B.C. Also the bust of Caracalla can be admired. That is actually his nickname. He was Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, his real name was Bassianus, and he was born in Lyon in 176 A.D. He looks worried, but then he was murdered too. Before this happened he gave to all the free inhabitants of the roman empire the roman citizenship, the Constitutio Antoniniana.

In the National Museum of Naples are also many treasures on display from the excavations of the ruins at Herculeum that started in 1738. They found marble and bronze sculptures, paintings, a library of papyrus rolls and also domestic implements.

The day passed quickly as there was so much to see and absorb. All day Mount

Vesuvius was trailing an innocent plume of smoke, white fluffy cushions against a blue sky.

It was a different story in AD 79 on August 24th. The top of Mount Vesuvius was blown off by an explosion and in this disaster the cities of Herculaneum, Pompeii and Stabiae were buried by lava, ashes and mud more than 15 meters thick.

Mount Vesuvius has always been a violent mountain. In 1794 an eruption destroyed the town of Torre del Greco. A violent eruption occurred in 1906 that lasted ten days and many people lost their life. Despite its reputation the slopes of the volcano are covered with vineyards and orchards.

And then...

In a backstreet I found a tiny boutique that sold the most beautiful knitwear very cheaply. I bought a thick, white mohair Jacket for twenty Swiss francs, about five Australian Dollars. Late in the afternoon, I snug in my new mohair jacket; we went back to the ship.

The gangways, stairs and corridors and salons were already very dirty as no crew was there to clean up. People just threw everything on the floors, paper bags with half eaten food, peelings of fruits, chocolate wrappings. It was really awful how much rubbish accumulated just from one day and how careless people were. The ship abandoned by its crew seemed eerie and we were also apprehensive to sleep there when nobody supervised the ship. It felt like being stranded in a very seedy place. In the end we didn’t want to go and search for sleeping quarters so we stayed on board over night also not with the best conscience to sleep in the bowel of an abandoned ship. We must have slept because when I woke it was five in the morning. I ventured outside to have a look what was happening and if we would be stranded for one more day or so. The corridors were still quiet and dirty and the stewards were still absent.

As the morning got under way the crew was back at their duties. The sailors busy with brooms, soap and water cleaning up the mess. Luckily their union and the ships owners had solved the wage problem and the ship was once more ready to sail.

Chapter 6

Life on boardWhile the ship was on its way towards the straight of Messina we settled into a life of
easy and carefree time.
I had a look at all the different salons, Library, Card Room, Cinema, hairdresser and lots of shops, bars, and late into the night dancing and entertainment. The most exhilarating was standing alone on the windward side, let the wind tousle my hair, grazing my cheeks and take my breath away, far out where the waves bruised with froth, captured the colours of the sky, deep turquoise to dark blue and stormy grey.
We had happily settled to certain regulations like mealtimes. Breakfast, Lunch and dinner a main occupation were always taken at a leisurely pace. Everybody loved to congregate towards the dining room area well ahead of the time when the dining room’s door opened. They had always two seating's. First served were the people with children. We shared our table also with a family with three children. This family was returning to New Zealand. They had spent a year in Norway, as he was a Norwegian. He went as a sailor to New Zealand and met there his wife Terry a Maori. We had only halting conversations, as we hadn’t a very good command of English.
Breakfast was always well appreciated. Our waiter looked well after us and brought us lots of freshly baked bread rolls, butter, jam and hot strong coffee, one could also have a cooked breakfast, which we never took.
For lunch and dinner was always a carafe of red wine available on the table. The food was, well just food, not to bad but also not exciting. As entrée there was always pasta with tomato sauce or soup and little bread rolls. Some people doused their soup with generous amounts of olive oil and on their tables were mountains of bread-roll crusts, only the soft doughy inside is eaten. Every day we ate eggplants, steamed, baked, or roasted to death, mostly cooked to something purple mushy unidentifiable. They must have brought tons of eggplants on board. Probably there was a glut!
Desserts were everyday cake and ice cream. The cakes had the taste of those packet cakes one can buy in Supermarkets. I guessed there were some tons of those as well on board.
Well, my mother always said:” Hunger ist der beste Koch!” roughly translated, when you are hungry you eat anything! She knew all about that. My mother was born in 1910 in Austria and went through two world wars, and she said, as a child, she was always hungry.
So, as a child, I was taught never ever to waste any food. I thought of that when I watched the sailors throwing buckets of food into the sea. At least it was not wasted it was eaten by the fish.

SicilyOur next stop was Sicily, which had a very turbulent and bloody history that bestowed a lot of hardship on its inhabitants from the beginning. Its ancient name was Trinacria. A little of its turbulent history. It is the largest island in the Mediterranean Sea. The still-active volcano Mount Etna dominates and also scares it from time to time. The recorded history of Sicily began with the settlement of the Greeks and the Phoenicians.
The Carthaginians arrived on the Island in 536 BC. In 480 BC the Carthaginian army was defeated in a battle by Gelon. The Gelonian Dynasty at Syracuse fell in 466 BC. Sicily had peace for 50 Years. In 410 BC the Carthaginians and the Greeks renewed war. By 210 BC the whole of the Island had become a Roman province. In AD 440 was an invasion by the Vandals and a cession to the Ostgoth leader Theodoric.
The Byzantine general Belisarius recovered the island for the Byzantine Empire in AD 535. In the year 827 began the Saracen occupation of Sicily.
In 1061 the Normans began their conquest of the island. The Norman rule was succeeded
By the Hohenstaufens in 1194 and in due course the house of Anjou took control in 1266. In 1282 the Sicilians had enough and revolted against the oppressive rule of Charles the first. The revolt is known as the Sicilian Vespers and began with a massacre of French soldiers. The island of Sicily became independent and chose King Pedro III of Aragon. The Spanish crown retained Sicily and Naples until the war of the Spanish succession. In 1713 Sicily was separated from Naples and handed over to the Duke of Savoy who ceded it to Austria. Receiving in exchange for the Island of Sardinia.
In 1734 the Bourbon Don Carlos, later Charles III king of Spain invaded Naples and Sicily. He was crowned in 1735 and was recognized by the Treaty of Vienna, as Charles IV, King of the Two Sicilies. After the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle, 1748, Italy enjoyed almost 50 years of peace.
The turmoil of the French revolution and the Napoleonic wars brought new troubles.
In 1820 a military uprising took place in the Neapolitan dominions joined by a revolutionary group, the Carbonari, to secure a constitutional government. A power struggle continued. After 1843 the republican theories of the Italian patriot Giuseppe Mazzini took hold in Southern Italy. There was more bloodshed as Ferdinand took his revenge. In 1860 after Northern Italy was free from the rule of Austria the Italian nationalist Giuseppe Garibaldi landed in Sicily with a thousand volunteers and won control of the island. In 1861 Sicily was then joined to the new kingdom of Italy. The national Government had little understanding of the south. The Government was challenged by rebellious workers, which were again burdened by taxes and military conscriptions. Mutual suspicion characterized north-south relations. In July 1943 Sicily was invaded from North Africa by American, Canadian and British forces. Mussolini fell from power and the Italian Government capitulated.
In 1948 Sicily became a locally autonomous region of Italy, with powers of self Government.
I always think what a world with all the wars everywhere and politicians promising anything and then pulling any strings to suit the rich and mighty. When one looks back....it was never different....the Borgias....the Medicis...the Sforzas...they are and were everywhere. Also, the Machiavelli's are still well and alive in the great world theatre of ours!

Messina,
I was very much looking forward to visiting this city with its ancient history. The Greeks founded the city 735 B.C.
The villas and houses are of the simple classical build. The once vibrant colours of the
stucco is now sedate, worn out by the Sicilian sun and the salty winds of the sea.
The diffused Venetian red blotched and streaked with tears. Traces of dramatic ochres are flushed and rouged. The dominantly yellow washed facades are faded and tired, yet the stuccatur still picked out in brilliant white. The villas looked sleepy with their wooden shutters closed to keep the tall rooms in cool calmness. I imagined the sun, finger boldly striped patterns on floors, walls and furniture, removed only by the following shadows called upon in the late afternoons. The houses and colours are just fantastic, and if I would like a house it should look like those.
Unfortunately, earthquakes plague the city. It suffered badly from an earthquake in 1908 that killed 83’000 of its inhabitants.

We walked slow and easy along streets with houses exquisite in their faded elegance, above us a limpid blue and open sky ready to be painted in delicate watercolour.
Wherever I looked senses were alerted, inert feelings started to sing.
We arrived at a tiny piazza, a perfect square edged with evenly spaced Orange trees. The orange fruits looked superb partly hidden by fresh green leaves. We couldn’t withstand the temptation and plucked one orange. It was a Seville, bitter orange, good for marmalade, not for eating fresh.
We said goodbye to beautiful Messina, which was ready to stage in the next dramatic play.

When I was a small child I knew that an Island called Sicili existed. It had an aura of something wonderful exotic, as at Christmas time we got presents of small, blood oranges, each carefully packed in fine, white tissue paper. On the paper was the head of a curly-haired African boy and in big, bold letters around it said MORO, Sicilia.
Later on, I met young people from Sicily, they came to work in Switzerland. They were always homesick for their Island. On Sundays, they wore fancy, colourful clothes and gathered at the railway station their melodious language reverberating around them and when young girls passed they called “Ciao Bella”!
They were seasonal workers, called “Fremdarbeiter”. Many Swiss didn’t understand their exuberance and joie de vivre.
In spring the trains arrived from Italy with young men to work mainly as labourers on building sites. Their possessions stashed in cardboard boxes or old suitcases hold together with bits of string.
At the end of the season, in late autumn they returned home. Through the windows of the train now went lots of boxes with presents and goods bought for their families. Happy faces smiled and looked eagerly forward to going home. A faint “arrivederci” was caught by the wind as the trains departed.

Chapter 7

Queen Dido The Galileo with its busy cargo steamed through the strait of Messina that separates mainland Italy from Sicily connecting the Thyrrenian Sea with the Ionian Sea. The strait is 32 km long and 3-8 km wide. Malta waved as we travelled into the Mediterranean Sea. Along the coast of Tunisia I thought of the beautiful, legendary queen Dido, founder of the ancient city of Carthago. Her story is told in different versions but ends always unhappily in suicide. When Dido’s husband was killed she fled to North Africa with her followers, where she founded the great city of Carthago. Jarbu from whom she had purchased the site of her city wanted to marry the prosperous Dido and if she didn’t comply with his wishes and demands he threatened her with war and destruction. She didn’t love him and she had also sworn she would never marry again and would in no way subject herself to his demands and killed herself. In Virgil’s version Dido fell in love with Aeneas who was shipwrecked at Carthago. When Jupiter warned Aeneas that he had to leave Carthago to follow his mission to found Rome, Dido despaired and killed herself on a funeral pyre. On his journey Aeneas met the ghost of Dido in Hades, but she ignored him completely and never spoke to him again.

Cato the Elder was a sworn enemy of Greek Culture. He campaigned vehemently against the immorality and luxury of roman life. In 157 he went to Africa to arbitrate between the Carthaginians and Numidian tribes people. He became obsessed with the idea that the city of Carthago with its wealth and luxury was a menace to Rome. Every speech he made he ended in the Latin sentence, “ Delende est Carthago” what he said was, Carthago must be destroyed. In the third Punic war 149-146 BC, Carthago was destroyed by the Romans, under Publicus Cornelius Scipio Aemilicus Africanus Numanticus. In utter contempt they spread salt over Carthagos ruins and nobody was allowed to occupy the city for 25 years. Thus the wish “ Delende est Carthago” of the roman statesman Cato the Elder was fulfilled. Our history always dramatic, never simple, always violent and rolling on!

Look beyond the horizon We left Algeria behind and bypassed the rock of Gibraltar, which is steadily a tug of war between Great Britain and Spain, into the Atlantic Ocean, and along Morocco; I wished we had a stopover at Casablanca, the city that optimises exotic and romantic days gone by. In the Southeast and East, Morocco follows in great sweeps Algeria and clings with broad steps in the South to the Western Sahara. The Argan, a thorny tree is principally found in Morocco. Moroccan women produce a fine cooking oil from its fruits.

The captain didn’t hear my wish for a stopover at Casablanca and headed for Tenerife instead. Some couples were disembarking there, as their cruise ended within the Canary Islands. It seemed they were not happy with their cruise. I was sitting nearby on a deckchair when I overheard them saying, if they had known that the Galileo was “ein Fluechtlingsschiff” a ship for refugees, they would have chosen a different cruise. I didn’t hide my smile; I thought it rather funny when I looked at their indignant faces eloquent with disapproval. For their sake I hoped they had their last dinner at the captains table that would dissociate them from the “refugees”! While we travelled on the Galileo we revised our geographical and historical knowledge in the most agreeable way one could imagine.

At Gibraltar we passed into the northern Atlantic Ocean before crossing the Equator into the southern Atlantic. The name “Atlantic” is resultant from Atlas one of the Titans, the son of Iapetus and the nymph Clymene. Atlas and his fellow Titans fought in the war against the deities of Mount Olympus. His punishment was to bear forever on his back the earth and the heavens and on his shoulders the great pillar that separates them. . Atlas carrying the world on his shoulders was used in the title pages of early maps. An Atlas now represents a quantity of maps. The Atlantic is the second largest and the most heavily travelled Ocean. The Galileo had to take the long way around the Cape of good Hope to get into the Indian Ocean and on to Australia. The Suez Canal was still closed for ships in 1974. In the 13th century BC. the first canal was excavated between the Nile River Delta and the Red Sea. For the next one thousand years the canal was more or less neglected. Some rulers, at various times had it re-excavated. In the 8th century AD the canal was abandoned. From time to time proposals were made to dig a canal across the Isthmus of Suez. Ferdinand de Lesseps had enlisted in 1854 the interest of the Egyptian Viceroy in the project. In 1858 the Universal Company of the Maritime Suez Canal was established with the authority to excavate a canal and operate it for 99 years. In 1956 the Egyptian Government nationalized the Suez Canal to finance with its proceeds the construction of the Aswan High Dam. In October 1956 Israel invaded Egypt. Two days later Britain and French military attacked Egypt to ensure the free passage through the canal. In relation Egypt sank forty ships in the canal effectively blocking it. The Egyptian Government reopened the canal in March 1957. The canal figured prominently in the conflicts between Egypt and Israel during the 1960s and 1970s. The canal was finally reopened in June 1975.

Tenerife. I remembered a little of its history from a novel, “Les partages du vainceur”, I read in the sixties, The story was written about the time when Cristobal Columbus made his voyage of discovery to the Americas. The native people of Tenerife were called Guanche and they had a very effective whistle language. This whistle language was used for communication when they wanted a Message from one place to the next delivered. A man climbed up on a hill and whistled shrilly. As soon as he received a reply he send out the message to the next man who continued the whistling procedure. It was said this way of communication was very effective around 1492 in Tenerife! They had also the habit of extremely fatten girls that were about to get married; they preferred very plump little brides. They lived in caves and made very sophisticated fine clothes from Goats leather. The Spaniards arrived on their island and conquered the people and their way of life. I looked at the steep, now bald mountains and out to the Atlantic, what a paradise they must have had. The Galileo moored in the port of Santa Cruz de Tenerife. Tenerife was always a very important port for cruise ships and with its holiday resorts it caters well for holiday guests. The stallholders were ready for the Galileo. They had laid out their wares, mostly trashy souvenirs that would be bought by tourists on impulse to take home to be left to gather dust on dressers and windowsills. One stallholder sold colourful woollen garments. I bought a red poncho with an intricate, colourful knitted pattern. Yes, I knew I fell for it too but it was so tempting to buy something so colourful and outlandish. To wear it was a different matter when not used to wear such a garment without sleeves. Once it is pulled over my head I am deprived of arms and hands. It is very awkward, say, I want to hold a cup of coffee; firstly I have to search for my hands under layers of knitwear adorned with fringes and pompons. In Australia it found its way to St. Vincent de Paul and perhaps somewhere someone is still struggling with this garment. After a day sightseeing in Santa Cruz we said good-bye once more. We had a long stretch of voyage before us to Cape Town. As soon as the ship was out of the harbour it was announced that there would be a emergency drill at 10 AM after breakfast. The stewards also made their rounds, knocked on cabin doors to alert people to get ready for the drill. We were already old hands at this procedure as we had done it before. When we heard the siren we had to make our way as fast as possible to the main lobby were we were handed our live saving vests and queued at a specified area to get into the boat. The woman and children were separated from the men, as they would go first in to the boats. They lifted the boats down, but we didn’t have to get into them. We only had to know the routine in case of an emergency, but it was still eerie when I heard the siren, because it could also be for real. The upper decks were teaming with people all adorned in their orange vests. Everything was very orderly nobody was pushing, but I wondered if that would be also the case in a real emergency. The Galileo was now on her way along the west coast and many countries of Africa, to the very tip of the South African republic and the city of Cape Town. I would have loved if we had a stopover at each of these African countries. The Galileo moved on regardless and all I got was just sometimes a glimpse at the horizon. I was thinking, that the second largest continent with its huge diversity, mountains of gold and precious stones should be the richest on earth. The people should live free from hunger and be quite well off amidst so much wealth. But they are not. The West African Sahel drought, which began in the late 1960s lasted more than ten years. The agriculture of Mauritania, Mali, Burkina Faso, Niger and Chad were devastated. Western Governments have also changed boundaries of tribal lands in the manner to suit themselves. After independence of some African countries that instigates a lot of unrest and wars between different ethnic groups. Wars and hunger herds people together, miserable and homeless they receive some handouts. Where is the justice from a few handfuls of wheat when there is much more needed? Ordinary things to lead a decent life, like homes, clothes, toys, schools and medical help when it is required. When some of the spoils taken for centuries from the African soil and its people are returned then the Africans don’t need cheap handouts anymore. Africa the cradle of mankind. Five million years ago a type hominid, a close evolutionary ancestor of present day humans inhabited southern and eastern Africa. More than 1,5 million years ago this toolmaking hominid developed into the more advanced homo habilus and Homo erectus. The earliest true human being in Africa Homo sapiens dates from more than 200’000 years ago, he was a hunter-gatherer capable of making crude stone tools. The African soil is awash with the tears of the African people. Most slaves transported to the Americas came from the west central coast of Africa, where we travelled along in leisure. Although slaves were transported throughout the Americas the vast majority went to sugar plantations in the Caribbean Islands and Brazil. It lasted four Centuries and millions of Africans fell victim to this traffic in human lives. Further south the Portuguese founded Luanda in 1575 and it was here that half of all the slaves sent to the Americas originated. During the later 18th century sentiment in Great Britain turned against the slave trade. The British outlawed the slave trade for British citizens in 1807. This was probably instigated by the years of enlightenment 1768-1786 with its belief that the application of reason and good sense could solve all the problems of mankind. British efforts to control the east African slave trade led in 1822 to a treaty prohibiting the sale of slaves to subjects of Christian countries However an active slave trade continued for large numbers of Africans were seized for the clove plantations of Zanzibar and for Middle Eastern slave markets.

Chapter 8. We crossed the Equator;

Getting used to life on board; On board the people were getting to know each other, and life was easy and pleasant. The weather was mostly fine and there was a real holiday mood like in a big hotel in a resort. In those lazy weeks short friendships and clandestine love affairs bloomed. Little tiffs surfaced and were soon forgotten afterwards. In the morning the early raisers went for jogs along the decks. People were sunbathing on the decks, swam in the pool that was open for the time being. When the sea was rough the pool was closed and covered up with a tarpaulin to the chagrin of the children. The girls made friendship with other children also they could not speak each other’s language. Not before long they used the lifts from top to bottom, were chased by the sailors from the first class swimming pool as they had soon found out that it was not crowded. They found their way to the kitchen to get apples from the cooks. They went to the movies, and blocked the lifts much to the annoyance of elderly lift users. They were full of mischief and had a lot of fun. They were bursting with energy; they had not had any school for more than three month. I decided, enough was enough and every morning they had to attend English lessons for children. Peter and I attended English lessons as well.

The teacher was a young lady and she did her best to cram a little of English grammar into the recruited heads. She taught us intriguing words like “thingamajig” and “full as a goog”! I found it fascinating to watch the “students.” One woman was very competitive; she tried very hard to catch the eye of the teacher to answer the questions. When she got all her answers right, she boasted how easy this was. I think she got pretty much on the nerves of the poor students who could barley assemble an English sentence. Sometimes a heated exchange of words in different languages took place as pencils and pens scratched over rumpled foolscap, trying to make sense of a new language. One young lady was never finished with her grooming, combing her long, blond hair or trying to stick on an inch more to her blood red fingernails that took all her attention. She didn’t even look up when she was called to answer a question; she was so absorbed into her beautification.

Finally we got used to our cabin. For Peter was a bed provided in the next-door cabin. He didn’t want to sleep in a cabin with strange people. The girls drew straws to decide who slept with whom. Marie-Louise and Jacky slept together head to foot, but the bickering between the two didn’t stop so we decided that Lilli and Marie-Louise should sleep together for the time being. It worked as we were ignoring their complaints. Our Cabin Steward looked well after us. Every morning he cleaned our cabin and made our beds. He was always sitting in the corner near our cabin and in the coming weeks I sometimes had a chat with him half in Italian and half in English. His home was in Genoa and he had a little daughter, his wife was dead. He had always been a ships steward and had travelled the world. As a goodbye present from friends in Switzerland, all three girls had received a red T-shirt with their name in bold letters printed at the front. They loved their T-shirts and wore them often the sailors got to know their names and always called out, hi Lilli, hi Jacky, hi Marie-Louise. We also experienced very rough seas, howling gales and cold weather. People fell sea sick and the dining room was visited only by a few. The girls were fine and didn’t feel seasick at all. I was in my top berth lulled by the up and down motion that took place in my brain. I was slowly fed dry, small bread rolls and after a day and night cooped up in our tiny cabin, I had to get up. I felt weak, like emerging from a long and serious illness. I bundled up in my coat and a headscarf and went up and outside. The wind was fierce; I could barley open the door to the deck. I nestled into a deckchair that stood against the wall. I felt much better breathing the salty, fresh sea air. Nobody else was around. It was bliss to have the stormy sea all to myself. I was fairly sheltered under the canopy of an upper deck. There were no sea birds, no flying fish today. The sea was hissing and broiling, changing her colour with the shifting clouds showing her fickle temperament. Peter so far didn’t show any sickness until he went up for lunch and a fellow passenger told him to drink a fair amount of whisky to bolster his immunity against seasickness. I was half asleep when he white as a sheet, nearly fell with the door into the cabin and quickly crouched over the washbasin to get rid of the whisky and also the fish he had for lunch. After that he felt better and went back on deck, but not before he made the suggestion to me that I try the trick with the whisky as well. We never knew who our cabin neighbours were, but we knew there was a French couple with two teenage children that occupied the next-door cabin. They were a very vocal and demonstrative family. Long and very heated arguments were fought with the odd missile hitting the connecting wall to our cabin. When this first started I ventured out carefully to see our steward and asked him if he heard that racket and if it wouldn’t be good of him to go in there and tell them to be more civilised. He threw up his hands in horror and said no…no…no… He didn’t want to go in their and risk to be hit as well. Anyhow somebody took action, as they tried to keep their arguments to themselves. They also seemed to have run out of missiles. Sometimes somebody ran out of the cabin huffing and puffing and tried to slam the cabin door, which didn’t work. When I saw the steward he pointed to their door, lifted his shoulders slightly and we smiled. Pleasant days followed each other as our voyage took us further along the African coast, past Mauritania, Senegal, Guinea, Sierra Leone, Liberia, the Ivory Coast, Ghana, Togo, Dahomey, Nigeria, Cameroon so all this exotic places just remained places on the map in the lobby. We travelled now in the Gulf of Guinea and the days were warm and pleasant like summer days. We were not far from the Equator, which is an imaginary circle on the surface of the earth, dividing it into the northern and the southern hemisphere, between Cameron and Gabon. Ptolemy the Alexandrian Astronomer during AD 100 divided the equatorial circle into 360 degrees and created an imaginary North-South and East-West Network over the surface of the earth as a reference grid to find positions of known Islands and Continents. In roman mythology Pluto was the god of the dead, the husband of Proserpine. Pluto assisted his two brothers Jupiter and Neptune to remove their father Saturn from power. They divided the world between them, Jupiter chose the earth and heavens, Neptune ruled the sea and Pluto received the lower world where he ruled over the shadows of the dead.

It was the day we crossed the equator. Early in the morning when I stepped out on deck I was embraced by moist, warm air; it was a very agreeable sensation I had never experienced. In a sauna, the hot, moisture is harsh and leaves one exhausted. This was, like being gently swaddled in a moist, warm baby blanket, it was wonderful. Big preparations were made for a celebration and the baptism for the ones who traversed the first time the equator. Everybody was on the main deck when sailors performed a sort of macabre play with the birth of Neptune and then chased the people for their baptism. When they were caught, they were thrown without much ceremony into the pool. The sailors had also positioned a tall pole with a trophy on top of it. They asked anybody who would be game to climb first. Nobody did, as it would be pretty hard for the first person to reach the top, as the pole was completely smeared with liquid soap. Peter, always a good sport, didn’t want to spoil their fun and made the beginning, it was very hard because of the slippery soap. He didn’t make it to the trophy but he got a lot of applause because he was the first to try. The ones that tried later had it easier and with time most of the soap was rubbed off and some young guys reached the top. We were together with some of our new acquaintances and talked what sort of revenge we could take and Peter had the idea of hiding the white shoes of one of the entertainer, a rather small man with a tiny moustache and always in a white suite, who had taken them off for whatever reason. It turned out not to be as humorous as we thought it would be. The poor guy was frantic when he didn’t find his shoes. He was rather comical and at first we thought he just played along but it turned out that he was really despaired, when he didn’t find them it was just like he had only one pair of shoes. We couldn’t watch him longer and showed him where they were. He didn’t laugh; he was not amused.

We passed by the African countries of Gabon, Kongo and Angola.

Of Gabon I remembered the humanist Doctor Albert Schweitzer who arrived in Lambarene in 1913 and build his hospital and helped and treated thousands of people. As a German national he was interned in France from 1917-1918. In this period he wrote two important philosophical works, The Decay and restoration of Civilization and Civilization and Ethics. In 1924 he returned to Lambarene and rebuild his hospital. He received the Nobel Peace Prize in 1952 and died in 1965, a truly great man. . During 350 years, from 1470, the Portuguese, the French, Dutch and English carried on a very lucrative slave trade from this area. Freed slaves founded Libreville in 1849, the capital of Gabon that became independent in 1960.

With the name Kongo the famous explorer Henry Morton Stanley and his famous remark “Dr. Livingstone I presume?” came to my mind. He founded Kinshasa that he named Leopoldville in 1881 as a trading depot on the Congo River. He was ruthless and nasty towards the African native people whose country he explored for the sake of European Nations. He received a knighthood for his service and he died in 1904 when more or less all of Africa was in European hands.

In 1974 Angola, a country rich in mineral resources was still under colonial rule from the Portuguese. The Portuguese were not fair and kind and didn’t apply a policy of equality. Their only interest was to exploit the riches of the country to the benefit of Portugal. It was calculated and cruel. In 1974 the adult literary rate was still only 15 %. Angola was governed by a system called “do indignato”, a rule of economic exploitation, educational neglect and political repression. In the 1950s a nationalist movement grew and in 1961 a guerrilla war against the Portuguese and their exploitation of Angola was initiated. Angola reached independence from Portugal in 1975.

Forced labour The Portuguese Empire first established a de jure system of forced labour throughout its colonies in 1899. The Portuguese government did not implement the system in Angola until 1911. It was abolished it in 1913 In 1926, later that year, Salazar reestablished forced labour, ordering colonial authorities to force nearly all adult, male, ethnic minorities in Portugal's African colonies to work. The government told workers that they would only have to work for six months of every year. In practice, this obligation was a life sentence of forced labor. Civil rights for natives, no longer treated as natural law, had to be "earned" on a case by case basis under the designation of assimilade. Less than 1% of the native population ever achieved this designation. By 1947, 40% of workers died each year with a 60% infant mortality rate By 1940 the white population in Angola had risen to forty thousand, 2% of the population. Most of these émigrés, illiterate and landless, took the best farming land, regardless of availability, without compensating existing landowners. The authorities expelled natives, forcing them to harvest maize, coffee, and beans. Natives could "volunteer" to work on the plantations, voluntários, or face conscription, working for $1.50 per month as contratados. This system of forced labour prompted 500,000 Angolans to flee, creating a labor shortage, which in turn created the need for more workers for the colonial economy. By 1947, 40% of the forced labourers died each year with a 60% infant mortality rate in the territory (according to The World Factbook's 2007 estimates, infant mortality rate (deaths/1,000 live births) in modern-day Angola was 184.44 - the worst result among all countries in the world). Historian Basil Davidson visited Angola in 1954 and found 30% of all adult males working in these conditions; "there was probably more coercion than ever before." Marcelo Caetano, Portugal's Minister of the Colonies, recognized the inherent flaws in the system, which he described as using natives "like pieces of equipment without any concern for their yearning, interests, or desires". Parliament held a closed session in 1947 to discuss the deteriorating situation. Henrique Galvão, Angolan deputy to the Portuguese National Assembly, read his "Report on Native Problems in the Portuguese Colonies". Galvão condemned the "shameful outrages" he had uncovered, the forced labour of "women, of children, of the sick, [and] of decrepit old men." He concluded that in Angola, "only the dead are really exempt from forced labor." The government's control over the natives eliminated the worker-employer's incentive to keep his employees alive because, unlike in other colonial societies, the state replaced deceased workers without directly charging the employer. The Portuguese Government refuted the report and arrested Galvão in 1952[3] In 1961, Galvão would be involved in the hijacking of a Portuguese luxury cruise liner.

Somewhere along the borders of Angola and Southwest Africa we passed the remote Island Saint Helena, made famous by Napoleon.

Chapter 9

Napoleon the first was born in 1769. In 1798 he led an expedition to Ottoman ruled Egypt. His fleet was destroyed by Horatio Nelson that left him stranded. Undaunted he reformed the Egyptian Government and law. He abolished serfdom and feudalism guaranteeing basic rights for the peoples. The French scholars he took with him began scientific studies of ancient Egyptian history. In a coup d’etat 1799 he seized power and established a new regime. He defeated the Austrians at Marengo and then negotiated a general European peace that established the Rhine river as the eastern border of France. In France the administration was reorganized, the court system was simplified and all schools were put under centralized control. French law was standardized in the civil code and six other codes. They guaranteed the rights and liberties won in the revolution; equality before the law and freedom of religion. In April 1803 Britain resumed war with France on the seas. Two years later Russia and Austria joined the British in a new coalition. Instead of invading England Napoleon turned his armies against the Austrian and Russian forces and defeated them at the Battle of Austerlitz on December 2, 1805. It was turmoil for Europe. In 1809, still at war, he beat the Austrians at Wagram. In all the new kingdoms created by the Emperor the code Napoleon was established as law. Free public schools were envisioned and higher education was opened to all who qualified, regardless of class or religion. Every state had an academy for the promotion of the arts and sciences. In 1812 Napoleon landed his disastrous invasion of Russia that ended in his abdication and he was exiled to the Island of Elba. In March 1815 he escaped from Elba and made a dramatic comeback. Back in Paris he presented a new and more democratic constitution. On June 18, 1815 his campaign into Belgium ended in his defeat at Waterloo. He fled and surrendered to the captain of the British battleship Bellerophon. Consequently he was exiled to Saint Helena where he lived until his death on May 5, 1821.

We travelled in soothing comfort on our big ocean going hotel and life on board continued in its holiday mood. We sailed now along Southwest Africa the last country before our next step into Cape Town. Still along the west coast of Africa where so much unhappiness for so many African people had occurred. Even if those atrocities had happened centuries ago, one of the last bastions of slavery in the so-called civilized world were the southern states of the USA. In 1727 the Quakers, a religious group of people tried to start to verso slavery. In 1865 slavery was abolished in the USA after the Confederates in 1863 lost their war to keep their way of life that included slavery. I was greatly affected by the suffering of the slaves and the inhumanity of it when as a child I read the most forceful novel of its kind in American history, Uncle Toms Cabin by Harriet Beecher – Stowe, a writer and abolitionist born in 1811 and died in 1890.

From 1530 until the abolition of the slave trade in 1870, ten million Africans were brought by force to the Americas. 47% were brought to the Caribbean Islands and the Guiana’s; 38% to Brazil, 6% to mainland Spanish America, about 4.5% went to North America and about the same proportion to Europe. We arrive in Cape Town We were happy to set foot once more on land after the long haul from Tenerife to South Africa. It was spring, the air was balmy and the glorious Jacaranda trees shed their petals to spread a mauve carpet to welcome us. We walked in the city and changed some Swiss Francs into South African Rands. We had a rest in a small park in the middle of the city. The bench we sat on was reserved for whites only, other benches were for blacks it said on small signs that were screwed to the back of the benches. It was quite an odd feeling to sit on a bench that was reserved for white people. I was wondering if sometimes at night when nobody was around the goblins would come out and change the signs around so the black seats would be white and vice versa the next morning, just to defy this awful system of apartheid. A small boy approached us with a tray full of little paper bags filled with peanuts. We bought one to feed the numerous squirrels that hovered around us. When we left the little boy followed us and we bought one more little bag; satisfied, he gave us a brilliant smile and waved us goodbye. Table mountain stood out , a dramatic backdrop to the city of Cape Town. On this day the top didn't wear a tablecloth as there were no clouds. One day I would like to go back and explore the wildflowers growing on table mountain. I was always on the lookout for interesting plants. On our strolls through the city I saw the entrance to a small park. We went in and it was an amazing place full of Aloes, a succulent plant with fleshy leaves, striped or mottled or just different hues of green. Very attractive with big towers of reddish hued bells. Small pathways were on both sides crowded by these beautiful, stately plants. I made a mental note that I would like to include them in my future garden. We explore a little of the city and we end up in a park with a playground for the children and a restaurant were we had lunch. The landscape is very dramatic with this big lump of a mountain watching over the city.

Cape Town was founded in 1652 as a supply base for the Dutch East India Company. Discrimination against Non-Whites was inherent in South African society from the earliest days. Indian leader M.K.Gandhi led the struggle to assure civil rights for Indian residents before world war one. Despite some concessions the Indian population retained second-class status after the war. South African blacks, the real owners of the place, had an even lower status. They lived in segregated areas and could not hold office; technical and administrative positions were closed to them. Louis Botha a former South African commander became Prime Minister in 1910. One of the first acts of the new parliament was to pass the native land act. This prevented black people from buying land outside the so-called reserves. The limited amount of land available to the black people ensured a migratory, cheap labour force that was available for the mines and industries. In 1914 J.B.M. Herzog founded the National Party. In 1918 a secret organization “The Broederbund” was established to further the white Afrikaner cause and interests. At the heart of the National Party’s legislative agenda was apartheid. Every fundamental right was abandoned and violated. Communism equated to any struggle for change and was used by the NP as an excuse to arrest government opponents. A group areas act was passed in 1950. Separate areas were reserved for Whites, Blacks, Coloureds and Asians. Stringent pass laws were implemented in 1952. They restricted and controlled black peoples access to white areas. Blacks without passes who remained in urban areas for more than 72 hours were imprisoned. Millions were arrested for such violations. Marriage between white and blacks was outlawed. In the 1950s the black population was divided into ethnic groups; each group was assigned to a so-called homeland. Ten territories were established. In 1954 legal obstacles were removed to further implementation of apartheid. To support the program the Supreme Court was filled with six judges sympathetic to apartheid. In 1959 the government passed the promotion of Bantu Self–Government Act. This was an attempt to diffuse international criticism of apartheid by offering Blacks the right to participate in a political process within their homelands. The economic advantage of this policy for the government was that it would relieve them of welfare obligations to millions of black people without losing the benefit of an abundant supply of cheap labour. Blacks opposed this policy vigorously as it was a further erosion of their rights because it forced them to accept citizenship in remote underdeveloped homelands. In the 1970s all of the homelands were nominally self-governing. They were in fact entirely dependent on the national government. They were not able to sustain 75 % of the country’s population. Most Blacks continued to live in white areas, and the vast majority who lived in the homelands commuted to white areas as an enormous migrant labour force. Apartheid a system of racial segregation was still in place when we were there in 1974. When we went into the post office to send away our postcards, there were also two long counters on each side separated from each other one for whites and one for blacks, one was not even in the post office allowed to use any counter, because we didn’t notice the signs and went first to the wrong side. We were quickly reminded to use the side for whites only. The people who used the buses were separated too to blacks and whites only. We watched the buses arrive and depart and even if a bus that was destined for white people was half empty the black people were not allowed to use it. I only had a short impression how apartheid worked but it was not a pleasant experience.

Under apartheid a person’s race influences occupation, place of residence, education, choice of partner, freedom of movement, use of facilities and amenities. Apartheid is a doctrine of white supremacy, legalized white economic exploitation, political domination and social advantage. Segregation an inequality between races has existed and practised in South Africa as a matter of custom. After 1948 laws were applied to protect the doctrines of apartheid. It was also reinforced with a harsh and intrusive security system, separate and unequal education, job discrimination and residential segregation.

Soon the Galileo was on her way ploughing the waters of the Indian Ocean. By now people knew each other more or less, rumours and stories went around about this one and that one and tempers got slowly frayed at the edges. We were very much looking forward to arrive in Australia. We were usually in the company of two other families. One young family came from Austria with two small children. The other family came from Argentina with three small children. Both families told me a lot about themselves and their circumstances, which were completely different from ours but in the end we all had one wish to arrive safely in Australia.

Chapter 10

We arrive in Fremantle

I blinked into the silvery sunlight, I shaded my eyes and here it was Australia. A canvas painted without horizon, red soil streaked with muted, dusky silvery green. Soaring trees with giant dancers limbs and a never-ending sky lascivious, jubilant blue.

Could this land be mine, called home, with its colours so different from Switzerland? It affected me greatly, this strange land which I didn’t find beauty in the way I was used to, will it ever grow on me or will I be forever a stranger. I had to remember it was not the land that was the stranger it was I, the newcomer. I would have to adapt or I was to be forever torn apart. I was confronted now by these questions while the land stood still in its extraordinary glory, displayed its colours like fireworks at the sunsets.

My senses must get used to this surprising, flat red land with its lethargic vegetation. Birds don’t sing they screech, their colouring bold in rainbow hues displayed in flocks of swift wings. The slightest, tiniest cloud does not mar the sky the most brilliant blue bathed in a diaphanous sunlight.

Will I ever love this land as much as the land I came from? The green meadows and hills, the Alps blue with Gentian in late spring. The snow-capped mountains, the lakes and rivers. Will I not terribly miss the first call of the cuckoo and the trilling of the lark high up in the sky on a hot summer day with the warm scent of dry, warm hay in the air?

I told myself I will learn to appreciate new landscapes, new colours, and new sounds. I will learn the patterns of the seasons, when it rains and when it will be dry. I will be thrilled with the flora and fauna of my new country. I didn’t yet think about the people who live here about every day’s fallacies if you didn’t speak the language of a country properly. I felt numb, tightly wrapped up in this strange country it enfolded me like a big blanket and I only just could peep out. I looked out for roads that lead to airports, train stations, and buses in case I wanted to flee something I couldn’t explain.

We strolled around streets with strange names in an unfamiliar city in an alien land. The road lined with individual shops, was teeming with people. The shopfronts looked to me like they were set for a western movie and I glanced around if there might be also a saloon and some cowboys on horses galloping around the next corner, but there was no commotion, no shooting, just the happy talk and hum of people strolling from one shop to the other, sitting quietly on benches their faces shaded by sunglasses and hats.

Peter and the girls were sipping their milkshake, while I disappeared into a bookshop. I walked slowly around the shelves my eyes searching the titles about gardening in Australia.

A very old lady with a bright red scarf lightly tucked around her shoulders stood nearby leaning heavily on her ornate walking stick. The book she carried slipped suddenly from her hand. I made a few steps towards her bent down and picked up her book. I handed it to her and she thanked me and said with a slight smile it’s not easy anymore to bend down at my age. She said with a chuckle that she thought she was over 120 years old. I thought I hadn’t understood her rightly and asked did you say you are 120 years old. Oh yes, she said, all my family had reached this ripe old age, but unfortunately, I am the last of the family. She adjusted her red shawl that had slipped from her thin shoulders and leaning on her stick she walked out of the shop with a surprisingly light step. Before the sunshine enveloped her she looked back to me with a mischievous smile. Oddly I felt a bit sad I would have loved to know this lady. I had forgotten about my book and my eyes followed her until her red scarf disappeared. Perhaps she was just a tiny bit mad but she was very charming.

When I came out of the bookshop Peter and the girls asked me what I had bought. I said I have bought nothing and I went back into the shop and chose quickly a gardening book. It was a huge volume and on the title it said that it covered every aspect of gardening in Australia and New Zealand and Peter had the pleasure to carry the mighty tome around until we went back to the Galileo.

Chapter 11

Terra Australis Already there is a change of people on board. Familiar faces have left and new ones have found their way on board. The same day, in the evening the Galileo moved on again. For us it would be a few days more until disembarkation in Sydney to which we were very much looking forward to. The young Austrian family went also to Sydney and then further on to Brisbane where in a place called Wacol they could stay until they found jobs and accommodation. We were on our own and had to look after ourselves. The Australian Government did not pay for our voyage nor for accommodation. They said the Swiss are well off and don't need help. Which was fair enough, we didn't expect it. The family from New Zealand travelled on to Auckland. They spend a Year in Norway and were now returning home. The family from Cordoba was going to settle in Melbourne. Where they hoped to find jobs. The few days remaining on the Galileo, was a little bit like being in limbo. I was not hungry and I didn't sleep all that well. Butterflies in my stomach, and I thought I was so strong to master anything. Now we were so near our destination it was nearly like utopia. The little cabin had become like a cocoon, safe and familiar. At least we did not have to worry about Peter or I finding a job. We knew were we wanted to settle, and we knew we wanted to buy land. One Italian lady made always a very unhappy impression. I saw her often because her boy was about the same age as Lilli and they played and roamed the Galileo together. She didn't like at all to return to Melbourne. She wanted to stay in Italy. Her husband was happy to return to his chosen new homeland. Many new Australians returning from their holidays in Europe were very exited and happy to be back home and send kisses into the soft, moist air when we had approached Terra Australis. . In Melbourne we had some time to explore the city. We didn't fancy that and took the children to the zoo to have a look at Australian animals. It was quite cool and clouds were chasing each other trying to give us a glimpse of a blue Melbourne sky. The few splats of big raindrops soon turned into rain. We returned once more, the last time to our momentary home. She, the Galileo was waiting for us. Proud, gleaming white and dependable. I was nearly a bit sad that this was our last journey. Yet the excitement to be so near to our final destination took over my emotions. On our suitcases it said in prominent letters Sydney, alluring, mysterious, proud. Soon these letters would turn into a city, into people, streets, parks and all the other beautiful and ugly sides of any city. Everybody was on deck , what a show it was. Nowhere I felt the same excitement of the people, as when the Galileo approached Sydney harbour. It was like everything came to a happy end. The suitcases were hauled once more from the bowel of the ship and carried by the stewards to form neat rows to be picked up by the passengers. We said goodbye to a few acquaintances and in the excitement also shook hands with strangers.

My butterflies had settled, there was just a little flutter from time to time. Five persons, seven suitcases and numerous handbags, us, standing a bit forlorn on the quayside in between the hustle and bustle of strangers. What now?

There was not one single person in Sydney or for that in the whole of Australia, we could call and say, hey, we are here we have arrived! Taxis arrived and departed. We better look for a hotel as we wanted to stay a few days in Sydney. We approached a Taxi and asked If he knew a nice family hotel. He took us and our luggage and delivered us to the Peoples Palace. The taxi cost us 7 Dollars. We didn't know the Peoples Palace was managed by the Salvation Army. It was a tall, old building. Inside all was wood and we had 2 rooms on the third floor. The first thing we did was looking for an escape route in case there was a fire. The rooms were fine. Everything very old fashioned. The beds were high, very comfortable with fresh, crisp white linen. The only thing I didn't feel comfortable about was the communal toilets and showers which one had to approach through a maze of dingy corridors. There were also a lot of odd people shuffling to and fro. After settling in we left to have a look at our surroundings. We went to see the Opera House. We were thrilled to be standing on the broad steps, admiring this famous and formidable building. What a treat it must be to be able to be inside, all dressed up, and listen to a concert. We went for a long stroll in the Royal Botanical Garden. What a treat this Garden is. There were not many people. We looked at the trees which were all labelled with their name. It is a beautiful park. The children took their shoes off and made very soon their first acquaintance with the very famous Bindi-eye. Ooh what is this, it stings, it hurts? A lady sitting not far from us, explained that this was an Australian weed called Bindi-eye or the Australian way just Bindi. It grows in lawns in spring and summer, something to get used to! In the evening Peter and the girls went out to have dinner. I had a terrible migraine, I felt so miserable and sick all I wanted to do was bury my head in my cushion. The next morning I felt better again and we did a bit more sightseeing. Our heart was not really in this we wanted to be on our way to our final destination. So, we decided to call it a day and went to the railway station to book a train to Grafton.

Chapter 12

We arrive in Grafton We were early at the train station in Sydney to wait for our train that would bring us to Grafton. The clerk at the office had described this train as the best in the world. Patiently we waited and waited. Our departure time 8.30 pm drew nearer and nearer and there was just this old, dusty train waiting. People were rushing, said their goodbyes and busily boarded the waiting train. Peter and I asked each other is this it? There was no other train in sight so we took the baggage and the children and looked for our seats in a reserved, first class, and no smoking compartment. Our reserved seats were already taken. We showed our tickets and said “ours”! The people that occupied our seats shrugged and didn’t move. There was no guard far and wide so we looked for five free places. We had to take whatever seats were free.

In front of me sat a man a pipe in his mouth. He smoked relentlessly like a chimney. The heavy smoke was like a shroud around my seat. I confronted him and said:” in here no smoking.” He ignored me completely so his smoke output doubled it send me into a restless sleep. A coughing attack and a jolt that announced another stop of the train woke me once more up. The seat in front of me was empty I hoped the smoker had left. There were now more seats available so we made a dash to occupy the empty places so we could sit together. There was no dining car to have something to eat or drink a cup of coffee and nobody came through with a drinks or cafe trolley like it is usual on long train journeys. When we passed New Castle we were amazed to see the whole city illuminated like a Christmas tree. We had a very restless night with people drinking beer, singing on top of their voices and also trashing out between them the odd argument. From that was some respite when suddenly the guard came to check the tickets. He complimented the lot of the revellers out of the first class compartment to which they promptly returned as soon as the guard had turned his back The train made its way slowly to the North Coast of New South Wales. We travelled the whole night and were due to arrive in Grafton at 9am. At dawn a rosy sky announced a new day and happily we gazed out of the window, looked and talked about the strange landscape that opened up before us. The train passed Coffs Harbour and we enjoyed looking at the hills thickly planted with Bananas that gave us our first clue that we were getting closer to a warmer climate. It was far passed our scheduled arriving time nearer to midday than morning. The train had also stopped in the middle of nowhere for quite a while and we didn’t know what happened. Then finally, around midday, three hours late, we arrived at Grafton. I said to Peter just as well nobody did meet us. Dragging and balancing seven suitcases and bags, we stepped into the unknown that is onto the platform of the train station in South Grafton. We were a bit stunned where we had landed and looked at each other baffled. In a silent way, our eyes met and we nearly turned back to board the train again. At the same moment the train heaved a big sigh, shuddered and was in motion once more. So for the time being we welcomed ourselves to Grafton”! Our arrival was not notable the red carpet was at the cleaners. The reception committee was at lunch and the musicians were out of town! The few people that had left the train with us had dispersed, met by family or friends they were whisked away in cars. It was only us who were standing there a bit dazed and dishevelled from the long journey, a lost look on our faces, what have we done. The children oblivious to our momentary qualms sat on the suitcases chatted and giggled and wanted to know where we were going from here. We looked around and didn’t see a town or a village. A sturdy boy was standing near and looked at us and probably figuring out what sort of language we were speaking. I went to him and asked him where is the town, where are the houses?. He said:" The town is over the bridge." Satisfied with his certain knowledge that there really was a town we approached the waiting taxi. While in Sydney we went to the bank of New South Wales. A young Swiss lady who spoke our language from their public relations office helped us with our accommodation in Grafton. Previously while still in Switzerland we had written to a real estate office in Grafton to a mister Tom Cronin, so we gave her his address to contact, and mister Cronin rented for us a caravan. We hadn’t thought of this option but thought that’s how things were done here. If you needed a place to stay you hired a caravan. So our journey came to a halt for the moment. The Sunset Caravan Park was waiting for us.

We approached the taxi driver who glanced at us through dazzling sunglasses who reflected the sun rays in multi hued sparkles. He heaved himself up from his relaxed pose and I showed him the address of the caravan park. He said something that we didn’t understand then we said we wanted him to take us to the Sunset Caravan Park. He assessed us with our seven suitcases through his sunglasses still flashing purple, green and pink He struggled out of his seat that seemed to hold him back with compulsion. He opened the cavernous boot that took easily all our suitcases. Peter took the front seat and the girls and I piled in at the back. The plastic covered seat was hot to the touch. The taxi driver was now talking non-stop. Peter didn’t understand him at all and answered with mmh… and aah…and ooh… the taxi driver searching his face his sunglasses now on top of his head still hurling multi coloured lights, didn’t seem to expect more of an answer. We drove at a fast speed through avenues planted with tall Jacaranda trees that flowered in wonderful mauve and purplish blue. The sideways were thickly carpeted with the fallen petals.

I didn’t know then that I had my first sighting of the famous and wonderful Jacaranda trees of Grafton. At the end of this avenue the houses became more sparsely the trees gave way to grassland and a tall sign advertised the Sunset Caravan Park and Sanctuary.

Chapter 13

We move in to the Sunset Caravan Park Neither of us had ever lived in a caravan or for that in a caravan Park. This would be a first and new experience that I did not fully appreciate at that moment as I was feeling like hit by a ton of bricks. I felt like a zombie transported and put down. I arrived tired, dirty, hungry and perhaps subconsciously homesick. Peter looked haggard from a sleepless night, his jaunty, little hat sinking over his forehead while juggling our suitcases from the huge boot of the taxi under advise of the driver who stood his feet apart looking at us like we were people he was not obliged to help with their luggage. Peter paid him and he left with a screech of his white-rimmed tyres. We shoved our suitcases towards the entrance and a door with a sign that said “Reception”. We knocked and a tiny, white haired lady came out. We asked for a caravan for at least a week to hire. She looked us up and down and said that we could have it for one night and we would see about the next day, which meant in other words:" I have to check you out first. Fair enough. We paid and she showed us to a fairly big caravan. We were all hungry so after stashing our luggage in the caravan we went to look for a grocery store, There was no linen for the beds, no cushions no blankets. The first night was very cold. The days were already hot in November but the nights were still chilly, especially in a caravan. We covered us as well as possible with our clothes. The first morning when we got up early we appreciated the suns already warming rays. We walked along the road to a tiny shack that sold fresh bread and also some groceries. We bought fresh bread coffee and milk. Back at the caravan we had our first breakfast. It was so simple, but it tasted wonderful, sitting on the steps of the caravan in the early morning sun, munching fresh bread and sipping Nescafe what could one want more!! Settling in; We made our plans for the day. The first priority was to buy a car as we needed transport. We also needed blankets and cushions. We also had to go and see Tom Cronin a real estate man to whom we had written from Switzerland. Reg, the owner of the caravan park, was also the hands on man. The tiny, grey haired lady was his mother Ella. Reg said we could ask him anything about good land and ask any questions we might have. He was also managing his small farm. He still had a few horses and he was growing vegetables, like beans and pumpkins. He was sort of taken with us and amazed that we came from Switzerland to settle in the Clarence Valley.

The next morning we walked , it was quite a long way, into the city of Grafton. It was lovely to wander along the avenues planted with the mauve flowered Jacarandas. The pathway was purple, carpeted with the fallen flowers, intricate small bells. It was like a fairyland. I was expecting a golden fairy sitting up on the Jacaranda tree waving her wand of purple bells.

Orchids, feathery ferns and massive stag-horns were growing on the trunks and nestling in the forks of branches.

As I am always interested in plants and gardens, I was looking into the front gardens we passed. There were fantastic climbers, huge yellow bells, called Allamanda.A fairly squat tree, with a broad canopy and ferny leaves was displaying the most brilliant red and gold flower bunches. I asked a person on the road what this tree was called. It is a Poinciana the lady said. Unfortunately, I didn’t have all day to study the gardens of Grafton we had a more pressing agenda. We asked the real estate man at Moy and Darby what sort of cars real estate men drive. He replied they all drive Fords. Our thoughts were, if they all drive Ford cars, those cars must be good and reliable. So a Ford would do for us. We went to the next big Garage, called Boland Ford. We were asked into the office. Soon we had bought a new, white Ford Falcon station wagon. We could pick it up in probably a weeks time. We explored the city of Grafton. We liked what we saw. The city sat in a haze of bluish mauve, quite breathtakingly beautiful. The streets were broad and generous, beautiful old buildings, lots of stores and the people were very friendly. At McKelly's Store we bought the cushions and linen and blankets we needed for our beds. This store sold also ladies, men and children clothes. The store was just absolutely choker block full of merchandise. The clothes were fashionable of very good quality, boutique style, not what I expected.

There was a Woolworth grocery store and also some kind of a small department store. One store was called Gerard's. They sold kitchenware, crystal glasses, china to shoes and clothes for the whole family and they also served lunches and cafe and tea and milkshakes. It was very old fashioned, it looked like out of the fifties. The Restaurant was very basic furnished with Formica tables and chairs. We enjoyed the milkshakes, fish and chips. "Andere Laender andere Sitten." The most alluring of Grafton was its many wonderful trees and the great sweep of the Clarence called the Big River passing the city. There were also many parks well maintained with flowering trees, shrubs, perennial and annual bedding plants. I saw a a few very nice boutiques, like “Vienna Style” or “Audeens”. It looked like a prosperous country town. It was also said that it was one of the most beautiful country towns, well looked after with its great avenues and the mighty Clarence River. After settling in and making a kind of a temporary home we called in at Tom Cronin Real Estate. After explaining, that we were the people from Switzerland who had written to him and he arranged for us the caravan accommodation....he said...oh yes...o.k. He didn't really know what to do with us. He had forgotten or never expected us to materialize. He didn't know it was for us he had arranged the accommodation. We had to explain to him that we were looking for a suitable grazing property to buy. So after a few attempts he finally said I pick you up, (we learned again a new term, pick you up..) tomorrow early in the morning.

I had caught a bad bladder infection and I was sitting nearly all night, on and off on a bucket as I couldn’t run out to the amenities block every ten minutes. It was the most awful night. I felt so miserable, lots of pain. Peter and the girls were asleep and didn't hear me rummage around. In the morning I went to ask Ella if she could recommend a doctor. Joan her daughter in law was also there, she and her husband were also involved in the caravan park business. Joan said I could go and see her doctor and she gave me the address. The same day I went to see this doctor and we talked a little. He said, that I wouldn’t like it here it was much too hot. He didn’t understand my enthusiasm. When I looked into his eyes, something odd struck me, I saw something vague, an emptiness which I couldn’t understand at the moment . He gave me a prescription for antibiotics for my “bladder trouble”. For a few days I felt not very well, actually quite miserable, then the medication helped to clear up the infection. A month later Joan told me this doctor had made suicide. I wondered what brings people to such a low that they can’t live any more. It was very tragic. The search begins for a property; Tom Cronin picked us up early in the morning. I was glad that the antibiotics started to work and at least I didn't have to run to the toilet on and off. He arrived in a big Ford and we hopped in. He took us out of Grafton driving west. Driving very, very fast along a strait road with no turns or corners. After one and a half hours drive he slowed down. He drove into a long driveway. The surrounding country side was pretty, fairly flat, Eucalyptus trees scattered about. He said this is the grazing property. We drove slowly towards the homestead so we could have a look at the surroundings. It all looked very quiet, like everything was abandoned and nobody lived there anymore. No voices of happy people, no laundry drying, no pot plants, nothing. The pretty homestead, the gardens and the tennis court were all in need of a good "face lift". I looked around, there was no other house. The homestead stood alone in acres and acres of land. While driving I had not seen other houses, nor a village, not even other cars. There were no cattle grazing, probably already sold.

It was all very still and quite beautiful in its isolation. The land was not green it looked blond with a greenish tinge with a golden sheen over the grasslands. It was spring and it was fairly dry countryside. The rains had not yet come. The owner came out and Tom Cronin introduced us. The man was Dutch, originally, he lived alone here. His wife lived and worked in Brisbane and the children lived with her. He was very eager to sell and to get out. It was 1974 and the cattle market was once more collapsing. People with big dreams had once more over committed themselves and the only way out was selling the farms. I didn't inquire about the next town, schools for the children, airport, buses or train stations. I knew we wouldn't buy this property.

The next place Tom Cronin introduced us to another property that was also very isolated. The land looked similar it was also very open and sparsely timbered grazing land. The house and machinery sheds stood on top of a hill. Also here we didn't see any cattle grazing. The grasses were rough and tall and dry looking. The house looked newer, it was a very simple building of rough grey bricks nothing adorned it. We were shown inside and around. This property was not what we were looking for. Then Tom Cronin drove with us into the bush. This was different. A two storey timbered house stood in a little clearing. Shadows were playing around. The windows winked were they were caught by the odd sun ray. Nobody was at home. A nanny goat was tied to a post with a long rope. It was calling us in a lonesome sound... The place was surrounded by tall trees, shrubs and scrub and when we explored a little further a big, silent billabong. Climbers were running up and down the trees, big and small leaved plants but no flowers. It was very shady, romantic but for me also a bit eerie as I saw a very big goanna climbing up a tree. It was nearly not distinguishable in all the green and dark surroundings.

We walked a little further and suddenly Peter called out a snake. Tom jumped up and cried where. He hadn't even seen it. He nearly stood on it. Tom was very scared. Peter and I laughed, we couldn’t help it, as it was rather comic seeing Tom with his long legs leaping up like a frog. He said he was not used to see snakes and he didn’t “fancy them”! We were quite OK in our "green-ness" about snakes! He was not keen on this adventure. For us it was not the right place, as romantic and intriguing it presented itself. Tom had enough of this dark place in the bush and drove quickly away. Copyright:T.S.2008

Chapter 14

The next day he picked us up again to inspect a few more properties. This property was also heavily timbered and very steep. The house was build of brick and new. Inside it was not finished. It looked all very neat and tidy. Nobody was at home. I felt sorry for this family. The new house was not yet finished and they already had to sell it. One could see that they cherished their home. This property was not viable it was to small to make a living. We drove further and further, all through bushland. Then suddenly the road became stonier, narrower and steeper.

An old Queenslander came into view. An elderly lady came out to wait for us. The house was quite pretty in its patina. It hadn't see a paintbrush probably for ever. Its white paint was only a shimmer on the grey, silvery wood. Inside it needed a big, big renovation. The floorboards were broken and one could see the dirt floor underneath. The floorboards had also shrunk away from the wall so there was a big gap all around the room. It didn't seem to bother the people living there. That wouldn't matter to us either. We could live with the odd snake, lizard or spider making itself at home in our living room, if the grazing land is good!! Two sisters, getting on in years, living in the same house as their ancestors had.

Proudly they showed us their pump for their water supply for the house. The pump was located outside an old timber shed. We wanted to see the creek where the water came from. We had to walk to the creek. The creek, at the moment was very low, ran deep down between two steep embankments. In the creek was a dead cow. She must have been there for days as she was fairly blown up! We said no to this property. The water supply was not good enough. there was no town water and we would have to rely on that creek or on rain water both not enough reliable sources. "The girls" also put the price up as soon as they heard we were from Switzerland.

The next property Tom wanted to show us was out at Nymboida. It is a pretty place. Rural, with a beautiful, rather wild, fast flowing river with the same name. It would be a nice place to live and still not to far out from Grafton. The property was hilly grassland, interspersed with tall and stately Eucalyptus trees. Some of these huge trees had black, solid looking ants nests attached to their massive branches. The kookaburras use these as nesting place to rear their babies. We had to traverse the river and their was just a makeshift bridge. The last big flood, not that long ago had torn away the bridge. A new one had to be build. Actually, when we came nearer to the house we had to go over a second bridge which was also badly damaged and in real need to be replaced. This was a bit a worry because without a bridge one isn't able to get out of the place. The house was alright nearly new. There was nothing to speak of what one could call a garden. Outside was one of these old coppers which were used in earlier days to boil laundry items like big sheets, towels and underwear. Nearby was also a big wood pile. I don't know for what the copper was used. While we were talking with the owners, Peter and I, in the same instant saw a really huge, red belly Blacksnake slithering out from under the woodpile and quickly disappearing under the copper. No one else saw this little manoeuvre. We were so new and green, we had just enough, when we saw this huge snake. All we wanted was get going once more over those rickety bridges and arrive safely on the other side. While Peter and I were looking at properties. the girls were "adopted" by Ella and Reg. They had a very good time. Attached to the caravan park was also an animal sanctuary sheltering Kangaroos, Wallabies and all sorts of birds. The girls were taught how to ride a horse, feed the animals. Reg had all three of them constantly in tow. They even taught him some Swiss words.

Around the park was a beautiful garden with flowering bushes and very tall Banana plants. I was amazed when I learned that the Banana is actually classified as a herb. Lilli saw this big hand of Bananas, beautiful yellow, nestling between the biggest leaves. She couldn’t belief that nobody took it down. When she showed the Banana bunch to Reg he cut it down for her and gave her the whole lot. Full of pride she brought it to us. The Bananas were the kind that are called “ladies finger“. It is a short fat banana but with a very special sweetness not at all like the normal bananas one could by in Switzerland.

Tom showed us one more place in South Grafton. It was a grazing property. It was beautiful, undulating with a view on the River. There was no house on it. It wouldn't be to far to go shopping and also very important not to far for the girls to catch the bus to their school. Peter and I liked the place. Back at the caravan park we talked to Reg about this place. He said he would come with us and have a look at it and tell us what he thinks of it.

The next day he took us out to Southgate and we showed him the property. He said it was very nice to look at, but we wouldn't be able to make a living with this property. He explained about the grasses that grew there. He said, look the soil is not good enough it is not fertile. The grass growing here is not nutritious enough for the cattle. It would be alright if there would be flats with good alluvial soil so you have both. We were a bit disappointed with his judgement but we listened to him and abandoned the thought of buying that property. Reg said he had heard through the grapevine, that a good property on the lower Clarence comes on to the market for sale. It was the last big property to be sold in one lot on the lower Clarence. It was not yet official. He introduced us to Ray from Ross Alford Real Estate who was selling this property. The next day, Ray picket us up at the caravan park and drove with us north towards Maclean to see this property. This time we stayed in the coastal area. After about 30 km he left the highway and drove into a small road that was not paved. The sign said Tucabia. There were not many houses. All farm- or grazing land. Some planted with corn or sugarcane. In between grassland with cattle grazing.

The property had fertile low lying flats bordered by the Coldstream River. Gently undulating grassland and on top at the entrance scrub, bush and trees excellent as shelter for the animals and also high ground in time of floods. Ray himself, a grazier, told us what we had to look out for. The old weatherboard house stood halfway between the river and the bush. Peter liked this property straight away. I was not sure, to me everything looked fairly derelict, unkempt, not pretty. My fantasies were not fuelled by this place. It was a little bit like, this can’t be the place we want. We haven’t come all this way to buy something like this! I stood there bewildered, speechless, while Peter beamed and nodded enthusiastically to Ray’s explanations. The next day Reg came with us to inspect it and gave his verdict. He said it was a very good place and if the prices were right we always could make a decent living. So, this was it then our dream place. After the decision was made to buy this place, it was like a bubble had burst, my woolly head cleared and I decided to stand with both legs firmly planted on the ground.

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

The grazing property This was our first inspection of our new property. Everything was new and interesting. We were getting ready for a walk up to the densely vegetated bush. Peter had instructed us to be very careful of snakes and dangerous insects. We all wore two pairs of socks and high laced up boots. So we were soon ready, well shod and also each carried a wooden stick for our walk into the unknown. I didn’t really know what the stick was for, but I soon discovered the stick was very handy to keep cobwebs away, which kept attaching to my face in long sticky strands. We walked in single file, first Peter then the girls and I making up the tail. Peter was also instructing us to stamp with one foot from time to time to vibrate the ground to disperse any approaching snakes. There was so much to see and look that we forgot to stamp our feet. The heat was penetrating the thick growth and we were hot in our protective gear. There were different places; some were dense with vegetation. Others open, small glades with tall Eucalyptus trees. As we wandered on we came to an enchanted place. The sun barley penetrated the thicket. There was a dark secretive Billabong, a water hole, as we approached we heard several blob blobs and something disappearing into the dark water. Later we discovered that the blobs were turtles rushing into the water. There were also eastern water dragons running from us on long legs and plunging into the water. This time we were only exploring a small part on the eastern side of our property. We soon turned around, as it was very hot. We thought to come back at another time when it was cooler. On the southern boundary was a canal with a floodgate that could be operated, as was necessary to let water flow in or out. Sometimes cattlemen from the next farm would throw in to the canal a dead cow or calf. We thought this was nasty and very unhygienic. Yet after a few days nothing of the cow was seen. We wondered why until we discovered huge, arm thick eels enjoying themselves. The eels were safe from us! The girls became quickly familiar with the property. They were very inquisitive and went exploring by themselves. They found one place just full with pebbles and an underground water source. There was a little stream gurgling up from the underground. They digged there to search for gold but all they found was fools gold. They found stone tools used by aboriginal people. They left them where they found them they were not theirs to take. We had a visitor who wanted to have a look over our property. He mounted his motorbike and was off in a flash before Peter could warn him about certain hazards to look out for. He was driving at high speed towards a drain probably about one meter deep. We were shouting and waving our arms but he didn’t hear us above the noise of his motorbike and he couldn’t see us as he was driving away from us. We could only look on what was happening. His motorbike dived into the drain he was thrown up into the air his arms outstretched then he made a salto and vanished too into the drain. We were stunned, we ran towards him but he was already crawling out of the drain shaking his head. Fortunately he didn’t come to any harm and relieved we laughed at his stunt ready for the circus.

Left the old dairy.

The bush I gazed at this odd strip of wilderness hanging on to the eastern boundary of our grazing land. My eyes drilled to lush greens stared at this untidy mass of trees and scrub in their subtle dusty shades of blue –grey, olive green, above it the relentless blue sky dulls it all to a plain, stubborn stillness. I turned away with a sigh, oh well the real estate agent told us, that this part of the property, he called it the bush, was very valuable for the cattle to shelter from the extremes of nature which in time we would also experience. Shelter from sun or rain, in flood times as this ground was fairly high above the river and finally it also provided food.

Day in day out the grey green wall of vegetation mocked me, challenged me to come and look, to appreciate the difference, to observe the changes through the seasons. At this time of year it appeared hot, dry and thirsty. The leaves are hard and unyielding. Yet when my fingers crush the tough membranes they release a scent of peppermint or lemon their fragrance perfuming the air. The leaves rustle softly by the faintest touches of air whispering their secrets. Before I went to bed I looked through the kitchen window to the bush hidden in the shadows of darkness.

Trees are happiness I made forays to discover the mysteries, the secrets, the hidden beauty of the Australian bush. I carry a small book with pictures to look up the names of Australian trees and plants from this region. A grove of Eucalyptus trees was my first find. Spotted Gums, Scribbly Gums, their trunks go on forever scratching the clouds. The spotted Gums have beautiful colourful markings. The bark is very smooth under my fingers. It cracks and I can prise it open to reveal a new juvenile beginning as soft as silk of muted colours, pale mint, blue, grey and pink, dressed like this no wonder this tree reaches for the sky. The scribbly Gum is like a relic from the past sporting up and down, around its trunk, stories written by tiny insects scratching, scratching day in day out for endless times. No one knows what they are writing about it will stay forever an enigma! The flowers are unique too, popping out of their casings revealing glistening white bristly stamens with gold overlaid. They are an important food source for myriads of insects, birds, bats and small animals.

A dead branch suddenly falls off, a widow-maker, crashes and shatters on the floor nearly hitting me. To my amazement a tiny creature, a pigmy Possum stunned and shocked by the sudden fall of its home, lands on my hand. I hold it gently, it takes not long and it is off quick as a flash. I think this is once in a lifetime to have the opportunity to hold one of these rare, very shy creatures. In earlier times when timber men were working in the bush to cut down trees these sudden falling branches were called “widow-maker” by them, because many a times a man had lost his life that way and left his wife a widow. Special favourites are the charming Acacias, also called Wattles, because they were used to build wattle and daub houses. There is one flowering for every month from bleached, pale yellow to golden sunshine. They stand out lightening up the countryside. Fluffy balls, mimosa scented, nestling or hanging in ropes from antic blue, ferny leaves showing their silvery undersides. Silver trees, Palace flowers, they stand out, lift up your spirits.

The Casuarinas or She-Oaks stand sentinel barley fluttering their dark, blue-green needle like foliage. Their branches loaded with stone hard, small cones holding seeds, which the black red-tailed cockatoos adore. Every day as long as they last they are feasting, screeching, flying from tree to tree to provide a wonderful spectacle. The trunks of casuarinas are solidly carved objets d’art. They rival any man made sculpture. Under these trees nothing grows. The floor is thickly carpeted with its rust-brown needles. Further away. Where the sun can get hold of the forest floor grow pockets of wildflowers. Rice flowers their many miniscule florets forming a head. Hibbertias creeping along the floor, holding their yellow cup like flowers up to attract small black beetles searching for a meal. Starlike, splendid blue Paroo- Lillis swaying on tall wiry stems ask to be picked. Where the ground keeps moist I find small purple greenish ground orchids with nodding heads agreeing to anything. The bush is so alive yet when I look at it from my window it appears stern and unmoving, what a deception. Paperbarks, their name a give away. The spongy bark clings in papery strips to the tree. Covering its attractive trunk and limbs in thick wads layer upon layer to protect the core of the tree from fire. This beautiful tree covered with its silvery, white flowers lets other trees gasp in frustration! I could go on and on, one is more beautiful than the other; I just want to mention the Brachychitons with their tongue breaking pronunciation. Stately, tall trees with green bark, flower when there is not a leave in sight. It is not called for nothing Flame tree. Its fiery red bells hang in bundles from the branches smothering the whole canopy. Its sister has pink bells on silver grey limbs it is breathtakingly beautiful. I want them all in my garden to worship their beauty to admire their sudden transformation; Australia’s trees its treasure.

Copyright T.S. 08

Photos T.s.

Chapter 17

Buying the herd; Summer was well on its way. We had the property and were very keen to buy a herd of cattle before Christmas. This was the holiday season and it would bring a halt to our endeavours until the end of January if we didn’t hurry and buy the cattle now. Our Stock and Station Agent rang that he would pick us up on Monday morning at seven a.m. to go out to Jackadgery to select the cattle. He had to leave his message at the milk bar and take-away shop of Hazel and Alex, as we were not yet connected to the Telephone. We were ready at the appropriate time when Ross and Ray arrived in a Ford Vehicle and picked us up. It would be a long drive and the morning promised a hot day. After about one and a half hours drive mainly through heavily timbered bush, Ross stopped the car at a pleasant place near a fast flowing small River. He rummaged in his boot to come out with a big Esky filled with sandwiches neatly stashed in a plastic box and Thermos flasks of tea. . Peter and I hadn’t eaten breakfast as we were too exited, so the Sandwiches and tea were a welcome break. Soon we returned to the car and the trip continued. Peter and I hadn’t been to this rather wild and densely forested hills. The bitumen road gave way to a dirt road. The car didn’t have air-conditioning so all the windows were down and clouds of red dust left a film on our moist skin. I was wearing a nice dress but it was not cotton so it was clinging like a second skin and itchy. The seat of the car didn’t help either as it was made of artificial leather that got hot as well. I tried discretely to scratch my burning skin and felt I was peeling myself as layers of red dust came away. After another hour we arrived at Charlie Smith’s property where we were to choose our cattle. Most of the cattle were already in the stockyard. Ray and some helpers were ready on their horses to drive the ones we choose to a holding paddock until they could be transported to our place. We went to the stockyard to have a look at the cattle. They were nice animals. The cows each had a calf at foot and were also pregnant. The cattle market was down and prices were low. That’s why Charlie had to sell his cows. We agreed to a price it was seventy-five Dollars a cow with the calf. Ross our agent said if we really wanted we could go lower. But Peter thought seventy-five Dollars for a cow with calf was pretty good and he said he didn’t want to put more pressure on the chap who had to sell his farm and his cattle. So everybody was happy and the selection began.

Peter was in his element choosing the cows while Ross and Ray with their longstanding experience was giving the nod of approval or not. It took quite a while until Peter had chosen the cows he wanted. He also chose a nice looking bull that he on the spot christened Willie. I would dearly have loved to know what the tough cattlemen thought about that. Their faces didn’t show any amusement just in their eyes was a little glint. The rest of the cows were let out of the holding yard and while they were crowding out Peter saw one that he thought he had selected. He ran towards the cattle waving his arms in the air and shouting I want the dark brown one as well. This action frightened the herd so much they were running in all directions it was nearly a stampede. The cattle that live free in the bush are very shy and frightened towards people when not seated on a horse or in a car. Peter didn’t know this and the men had a good laugh at him. After all the mustering was finished Charlie said to Peter that the Hereford cattle might not do as well in the lowlands as they do up in the hills. Peter said he was aware of this. Also Ross and other cattlemen told him it would be better to settle for Angus cattle. It was true the Herefords in the hills were healthy looking with a shiny red coat. Where we lived they didn’t look that great their fur was dull and shaggy. Peter loved the Herefords. He was going to find out what ailed them on the lowlands his scientific mind was ready to tackle a challenge.

The next day a cattle truck arrived with our herd. It was very exiting and we all went to the old dairy where the cattle were to be unloaded. We didn’t have yet build a stockyard so the truck was backed towards a small hill where the cows and calves could jump down from the truck. Willie the bull was last. He was reluctant to jump down. He had a reputation to maintain and it was not a very dignified sight the heavy bull jumping from the truck. In the end with a few probes with a stick into his backside from the truck driver he thought better of it and jumped. The cattle let out a cacophony of bellows and ear-splitting noise to orientate themselves and their calves. They were running everywhere especially up to the gate where they had entered on the truck. It was getting dark and Peter was afraid that they would jump the fence and get lost somewhere. The next day very early in the morning we went to look for them. We had not far to go they were all assembled at the old dairy like for a morning roll call. The cattle had forgotten their stress and settled down. Now we heard only the odd bah-bah of a calf looking for its mother. Willie was in the middle of his ladies looking proud and imposing.

One night in the first week when we had the cattle we were rudely woken up by loud knocks on the door and were taken from our dreams. I must say here that is was probably only about ten o clock. We went early to bed, as we were awfully tired in the evening, from doing all this outdoor work that we were not used to. We jumped out of bed and worried what had happened. The two Johnson brothers were standing outside the door and told us that some cows from us were in the river. Peter had to get the tractor, ropes and the torch that was unfortunately very low. It was very hard work to get the cows out of the water, especially at night under a lot of swearing on Peter’s side the Johnson Brothers didn’t swear, the cows were rescued. We thanked them for their help, as we could have lost those cattle. The next morning Peter started to fence the river off so we wouldn’t have that mishap again.

Chapter 18

The bulls;

The big clean up.

The grassland around the home paddock looked messy, strewn with discarded roof iron sheets, bricks, broken tools, wooden, broken carts, rusted cars with and without wheels, many old water tanks with rust holes in them lots and lots of sherry flagons who probably kept a few of the McPhee ancestors happy. Tangled fencing material and fallen trees brought by we don't know how many previous floods ago. Peter had to call a bulldozer to make a few big holes in the ground to bury everything.

Peter had already bought a tractor, bright orange, his toy, and a slasher to cut the old grasses. The Rep., Gary was his name, came many times until Peter had bought all the machinery he needed. He would always stay near the window, look out into the countryside and say:" Lovely view, nice cup of tea. My wife she is a funny lady, a funny lady, nice cup of tea. These sentences he repeated many times but we have never found out why his wife was a funny lady, so he drank his cups of tea!

Peter went down to the river where the grass and weeds were man high to clean up a field to make it ready to sow new grasses. The good news about floods is that they deposit silt and this makes the very sought after alluvial soils on river banks. Peter and the tractor were hidden in the tall vegetation. From time to time when the front wheels hit a hidden object the tractor would rear up like an angry beast! He had to drive very, very slowly not to cause an accident. One other field also along the river was already planted with corn. It looked a bit bedraggled but it would be harvested later on. The mending of fences would take a long time and contractors were already scheduled in the new year to come to dig the post holes and help in general. The wooden posts are very heavy and most of them had to be replaced. All the fences were in a sorry state.

A new stockyard had to be build for the cattle to be checked and for treatment and as well for loading and unloading. So there was very much activity going on little Gem. People from around the area liked to come and have a look what was going on. They always asked have you got money from Switzerland. They thought we had this Swiss bank account which would spew out the money when ever we needed or wanted some. This sort of arrangement would have been nice.

A part of the riverbank is badly overgrown with huge weeds and a lot of bamboo. So Peter thinks the fastest way to clean this up would be to burn it. As soon as the fire was lit, we got scared, it burnt with lightening speed and the bamboo started to explode. It sounded like a very, very noisy Chinese New Year fireworks. We tried to stem the fire with buckets of water....we got very hot, dirty and tired, until the flames were brought under control. Next time we have to be more careful.

Chapter 19

The River Dark and secret, it flows slowly past our western boundary. It is a big attraction for the girls and I. We swim in it on hot summer days. So we are always a bit apprehensive what sort of creatures are hiding in the deep, especially when we heard rumours there were sometimes sharks coming up from the Clarence into this sidearm. As it was so dark, very warm and caressing it was just like it was thicker than normal water, odd! When one of the waterbirds suddenly came up from the deep and its head just popped over the surface, we would squeal and shout, a snake! The girls dived deep down to the riverbed and said it was all rocky. I didn’t dare to dive but I went swimming and I was always a little scared. I must have had an absurd look on my face, delight because it was bliss to bathe in this natural Jacuzzi and trepidation from the unknown creatures waiting to grab me. There was always a plop from a turtle or a water dragon that rushed back into the water. Sometimes a real snake would swim past and we all swam fast and scrambled quickly to the safe shore.

The girls have caught a huge catfish. Peter said shall we cook it for lunch? We were all sitting in the small gangway veranda around the electric frying pan watching this big fish sizzling. It was raining buckets, like all the heavens had opened their sluice gates. The rain came down in glistening sheets I had never seen it rain like this. It was hot and humid and very comforting and satisfying to hear the water splashing and drumming on the tin roof of the house. The fish was by now swimming in its own fat. It didn't look very appetising. It took a while until this big fish was cooked. When we gingerly tried it, it smelled a tad of mud and was a bit tough, stringy and full of bones.. Each of us ate just a little bit. We heard a car arrive it was Leslie a very nice man who owned this farm before us. He asked are you eating a catfish, because he spotted the whiskery remains quickly. I said yes and it is not as good as people let us believe it would be. He was amused and said that we cooked the wrong catfish. There is a catfish that is very palatable. I am sure when he told the story at home they had a good laugh. Leslie came by because he had heard through the grapevine, again, that we were looking for a quiet stock horse for the girls to ride. He said he knew a nice, quiet horse for sale with a saddle. We trusted him and agreed to buy his stock horse by the name of "Taffy".

Copyright T.S..

Photos T.S.

Chapter 20

We didn’t understand much about horses and agreed with his suggestions. It didn’t take long and a horse and a saddle were delivered to us. Les told us the name of the horse and we understood something like Taffy that was then unfamiliar to us so we called him Davey.

This was the day when Taffy alias Davey started his life with us on “Little Gem”, and we were quite unaware what tricks he would be able to play on us. He was a lovely horse who knew its own mind. The girls had already had some riding lessons that they had received from Boyd a retired stock man and horse trainer. Marie-Louise took charge of Davey and his saddle. With lots of care and love he was pampered and brushed. His hooves that had grown long were cut and polished with oil. Poor Davey hadn’t had so much attention for a long time.

When she wanted to go riding Davey had to be bribed with a blue bucket containing oats.

When he saw the blue bucket he forgot to run away and then could be saddled.

Sometimes she would come home walking, yelling and swearing because Davey had wandered off and left her stranded far out on the property.

He was a good stock horse when mustering the cattle he knew all he had to do, when he was in the mood. I think he knew when he first saw us that we were suckers, he owned us and let us pretty well know the situation.

When he arrived he was left in a small paddock to get acclimatised. Four railings closed of the paddock. It didn’t take long and Davey had opened all the railings and was proudly emerging and wandering off.

We took him back in his paddock and closed the railing. Each railing was also tied with a string. In the night I saw suddenly a huge black shape going past the bedroom window. I was flabbergasted what was out there? I wakened Peter and told him to have a look outside. Davey was gently grazing and munching on the short grass outside our bedroom window. Davey had opened the strings and the railings and made again an escape. We were really hard thinking about naming him Houdini. Later we watched him how nimbly he was able to use his lips to open gates and railings and even knots in strings.

He really liked to eat the heads of thistles. Those heads are so prickly one can hardly hold them with ones fingers. Davey would gently nip them from their stems and then slowly turn them around in his mouth until softened and ready to be chewed and swallowed. He also liked the small figs that grew on a giant Morton Bay Fig tree. He especially loved them when they were already fermenting. When he had eaten his full he acted very strangely. He galloped around, threw his hind legs high up, whinnied and snorted, behaved completely out of context as he was usually a quiet, friendly horse.

We bought a small rowing boat named “Kmisitsch”, as it was said that it was bad luck to leave even the smallest of boats unnamed. It was generally left down by the river. Out of no particular reason Marie-Louise thought of bringing it up to the shed. She fastened the boat with a rope to Davey’s saddle. She jumped into the saddle and Davey went ahead and pulled the boat. For a while this went quite well. As the boat tumbled over stones and gave up tinny sounds the horse got agitated and tried to look back what was actually following him.

They came to the upper paddock where Marie-Louise had to leave the saddle to go and open the railings to get through. I was in the kitchen and suddenly heard this tremendous noise, crashing and splintering of wood. I ran fast out onto the veranda to see what happened. I just saw Davey jumping over the railings the boat still attached to him crashed into the railings the anchor flew over his head and landed in the soft turf. The impact of the crush released the rope attached to the saddle and Davey took off as fast as he could run. Since then whenever he saw the tinnie, Davey took great precautions not to come in any way in contact with it again.

I have never been on a horseback. Marie-Louise said:" come on mum" and saddled the horse for me to go riding. I was out of my depth I knew nothing about horses, they scare me. I just knew the front from the back of a horse.

To my amazement I liked to be carried in a rhythmic, slow trot over the property. I had a good view from the saddle and could go near the cattle without them being frightened. There was just one small problem. Davey always took me half way down to the river and then he turned around. No persuasion what so ever made him go further. After a few minutes hesitation he took me straight back home. My horse riding skills were absolute useless. When mustering cattle I was usually send far away from the action.

Chapter 21

Summer is the time of life for spiders. I have no arachnophobia. Yet one day I was really scared. I was picking the last beans bending over the rows when I suddenly spotted something unfamiliar. I had heard horror stories about them but never actually seen them until now. Hiding between the green beans I was just about to pick was a whole cluster of “red backs.” Shiny black with its red stripe, nature’s warning, keep off. They are very dangerous, their bite means death without antidote. It is uncanny the shock you get by nearly touching them. I fled the rows of beans ignoring bowl and spilled vegetables where I threw them in my hasty get away. I had Peter destroy the cluster. I was cautious in the veggie patch aware there could be more yet with time my encounter with the "Red backs" went into oblivion. Later we found some in our garage and also in a part of the ornamental garden were I was working. We thought they were brought with tiles, bricks and wood.

The next encounter with “Red backs” was in a small ornamental border near the entrance gate. The border was a riot of seeding weeds and it was time to get rid of the weeds and plant some native grasses and small bushes. Some time before, at an earlier attempt to clean this area I had spotted a cluster of “Red backs” between the tangled vegetation. That was the reason why I was not keen to go in back there to clean it up. Since then some time had elapsed and the fear of the “Red backs” had receded and was not centred in my mind anymore. I had all my implements ready, small trowel, secateurs, and my wheelbarrow to fill with the discarded plants and weeds, only my gardening gloves were missing and I was to lazy to go back to the house to fetch them. I was tearing out armful of weeds and dead plants, pruning others to give them a new lease of life, when I suddenly felt a tiny prick on my finger. One look at my finger showed a small white moon and two tiny holes. At the same time my whole hand started to throb and really hurt. I nursed my hand and my first thought was has a “red back” bitten me? Frantically I looked for signs of “red backs” where I just had weeded. I didn’t find any. My hand was still hurting a lot and there was also a light swelling. Then I thought has a snake bitten me? There were always plenty of red-bellied black snakes or whip snakes whose bite could also be potentially dangerous. By now I was really scared, as Peter was not around the house he was on his tractor slashing the grass on the property somewhere. No way of calling him. The next neighbours were miles away and the girls were at school. I went into the house and plunged my hand under the water, then took some ice from the freezer and bandaged the ice around my hand. I knew if a dangerous snake or spider bit me, I would have to drive myself to Maclean hospital that was about 30 kilometres from our place. I was also looking for the little book we kept that told how the body reacted to different poisons. While I was making all sorts of plans, at this time we didn’t have a phone, so I couldn’t ring anybody and ask. While all this was happening in my mind I surprisingly felt that my hand didn’t throb anymore. I peeled it from its icy bandage, the pain had subsided and my breathing was normal again. There were still the two tiny pinpricks.

A white spider or other spiders I have made connections with might have bitten me.

Numerous spiders, ants or the native wasps have nipped me but luckily never real harm was done.

My first encounter with one big spider, a huntsman, which I didn’t know at the time, I will never forget, because everybody who was there said it was so funny. When at the time it was not funny at all because I was so scared. I was so scared I had my pants literally around my ankles.

We were all together plus a few helping hands up at the new stockyard where we had some cattle for inspection. I was standing innocently on the road near the stockyard

Looking over to the men and the girls handling some calves. When suddenly this immense Spider, probably disturbed, ran over the road directly towards me up my boots under my jeans. I have never in my life taken off my pants so quickly. The men inclusive Peter and the girls were laughing their heads off seeing me their in my underpants, contorting and searching frantically for the spider which I didn’t find. My replies were not friendly towards the bunch of laughing faces.

In Summer Daddy Long Legs live with us in our home. They sit in their tangled, fine retreats waiting for their food. Under their webs lays always the detritus of their meals waiting to be swept up. They are no harm whatsoever to humans but can easily kill a Red back or Huntsman spider.

The Huntsman spiders live with us in the house.. We always call them Charlie. A big one can be greater than a hand span. They live behind Furniture, scurrying upside down on walls and ceilings from room to room. We leave them alone, they have never harmed us.

In the garden the distinct spindle shaped egg sacs of the Magnificent spider hang like Christmas decorations from branches of shrubs and trees. The spider itself is rarely seen it hides his jewelled body well. This spider and his spindles are very special to me like a present from nature. There are many more spiders in my garden that I covet and admire.

The golden Orb-weaver spins her huge, untidy structures across trees and bushes and over pathways where I am caught many times with the sticky web in my hair. Her fat, striped body with long legs in golden stockings waits usually in the middle of her golden, silky trap. She also employs an array of her children that also lay in waiting for the poor victims that are not aware that not all is gold that glitters.

Early in the morning the webs sparkle with myriads of tiny drops of moisture, like intricate crocheted doilies hung out to dry between the branches of shrubs.

Photos T.S.

Chapter 22

Christmas is just a around the corner and here it appears just at the beginning of summer. It has sneaked up on me without warning. I have not bought any presents for the children and we don't have a Christmas tree either. I am so occupied with all what is happening now and it doesn't feel like Christmas anyway. The children don't say anything about presents and a Christmas tree. They seem not to miss it either or am I kidding myself and they are just not telling me. I do feel guilty for not providing the customary Christmas treats this year. In the shops are kind of strange Christmas decorations with colourful balloons hanging from artificial greenery. Everywhere Christmas tunes are played. The sad thing is it does not feel like Christmas at all. I think I am homesick and I feel sorry for myself, which is the worst because it won’t help me feel better. Perhaps I feel like this because we have not yet a proper home. I have to shake myself out of this situation, I feel so lost in all this newness. “Our "next-door" neighbours Norman and Norma and their four children have come by and invited us for Christmas lunch. We drive to their homestead which stands on the highest point of their property. One of the children has to get out and open and close a few gates before we arrive on top of the hill. Norma and Norman are a very nice family. Very straight forward and no frills. They and their ancestors have always lived and worked in this region. They have lots of relatives and know practically everybody around. They have two girls and two boys. The boys, are about the same age as our girls. The girls a few years older. They live in a old, cosy "Queenslander" what the traditional houses are called here. I am impressed by a big Figtree loaded with fruits just at the entrance of the house. My mouth waters just by looking at this tree. Norma said help yourself, yes thank you very much I will. Norma and her two girls, 17 and 15 have prepared and cooked a beautiful Christmas lunch. The kitchen is very nice, decorated with many small porcelain figurines. The table was already set with her best china. We ate roast and grilled chicken and vegetables, lots of cups of tea to wash it all down. Dessert was an elaborate concoction called a "trifle" which is a bit a misnomer for this dessert. It was served individually in neat, small porcelain bowls. On the bottom a layer of cake saturated with brandy, colourful green and red, Christmas colours, Jelly cubes and to top it up a silky vanilla custard with some candied fruits. It was in a way what I knew as creme diplomat. Norma had also made Christmas treats like Coconut Ice in different colours which is a popular sweet. The rumballs also very scrumptious did not find approval with Jacky. I saw her taking it out of her mouth and throwing it out of the window behind her. Back home I reprimanded her for behaving not properly. Jacky cheerfully replied, it was Mrs. Connors idea, she said if you don't like it throw it out to the dogs. There were a few cattle dogs congregating before the kitchen to wait for the odd morsel. In the late afternoon, after sitting together comfortably and chatting, trying on both parts to make sense of what we were saying, we said goodbye and thanked them for their hospitality.

Chapter 23

I like to stand in the darkness and gaze up into infinity, the stars so close I think I can touch them. A velvety blackness dripping with silver fills the Southlands night sky. It spreads its glittering imperiousness to state its eternity. The stars enigmatic, following unwavering their path light years away, tiny scintillating dots which we will never reach. Also we try very hard to reach the silver. The moon sits in his corner tonight blown up, a smile on his benevolent face. They from down there have visited him. It was not very pleasant. They think they have achieved a lot, he very slightly sways let’s a fleecy cloud hide his smile; the radiance of the stars bathes the surroundings with a soft glow.

I look for the familiar Southern Cross; it tells me that I am here in this Southland walking on my head. The stars look rather small but the two brilliant pointers show the way to find it. The inky sky shows a very pronounced Milky Way like a silver ribbon.. The stars glitter and wink until they are all surrounded and lost in a crowd of sparkling constellations. I have never seen a sky like that. It is one of the wonders, balsam that buries deep into one’s soul. It is a feeling profound and arch primal. The next morning all is back to normal. The magic of the night sky hidden away. The sun, gold and silver, once more blazing and fiery.

The Christmas days have past. I am glad I can put it aside. The days of the eventful 1974 that has brought so much change in our lives are waning. Peter and I are very positive and optimistic about our altered lifestyle and hope that we all will be happy and fulfilled in our new endeavours. The whole process is still so new and raw. Everyday is packed with something new to learn and to absorb. The children take it in their stride which is fantastic. My brain works non stop to counter the challenge and to miss nothing. I am not yet relaxed in my everyday life. Peter seems quite relaxed. I think he is the first time really happy. He really loves the land and loves what he is doing, free and not bound by the everyday trudge of going to work, returning tired and not very inspired in the evening. He is 42 and I think he is one of the lucky ones to be able to change his workload. Normally he is not a relaxed person he is very highly strung and has a temper when things don't work out.

In February the children are starting at their new schools. Marie-Louise will start first form at Maclean High school. For her it will be really a challenge. I know she will cope she is a very clever girl. She is such a small, slim girl for her age. Jacky and Lilli will be pupils at Tyndale Primary which is a one teacher school with pupils from 5 years to 12 years of age. There will be only about two handfuls of students. I hope they are OK. They are not scared, very optimistic and looking forward to their new schools. I am glad about this it makes it much easier. Norma was very kind and told me all about the school clothes they would need, as they all wear school uniforms in Australia. Marie-Louise would need a tartan dress and white blouses, white socks, black shoes and for the cooler time of the Year a dark green jacket or Jumper, all the clothes were available at McKelly's in Maclean. Norma offered to take me there and show me the ropes. Marie-Louise also needed a skirt and bloomers for PE short for physical education. These items were not available as finished products. I had to sew them myself. I bought the material and I went up to Norma to sew these garments on her sewing machine, as mine had not yet arrived.

For Jacky and Lilli I didn't have to buy a uniform. The teacher, Mr.McCann, advised against it. He said:" This small school will soon be closed and then Jacky and Lilli will have to go to Maclean's schools. It is not worthwhile to spend all this money for such a short time, as they would need different uniforms. This suited me and the girls didn't mind as they were anyway not used to wear uniforms. By now we are also eager to get started with the building of our new home and we also need a Garage and a shed for the farm machinery. The road we are using now is also in a bad shape with deep holes washed out by heavy rainstorms. It will be better to build a new road in a gentler curving way it will be less prone to be washed out by heavy rainfall, instead like the old road which went in one straight line down the hill.

The new Year will be busy until everything is settled.

A tiny, new arrival arrived at our place as well and made its way into our hearts. Jacky received a tabby kitten whose mother was not able to look after it anymore. It is a Manx cat where his tail should be is only a little flap. His mother was a Manx. I had never seen one. Reg brought it over and Tommy, the name Jacky gave him, started his life with us.

We also got Purscht from the dog pound. He was a beautiful looking cattle dog, but absolutely useless with the cattle. He would just run uselessly around and try to snap after every bird that flew past him. I don't know what happened to him that he had such an erratic behaviour. At the same time we also got Boy a cattle dog pup. A cute and very, very friendly dog. He should be trained as a cattle dog, but I doubt it that Peter will be able to do that, he has not enough patience to do that sort of thing.

Chapter 24

The new year of 1975. We were eager to see the start of our new home. We had to be patient as our builder was still in his holiday home in Yamba. He invited us there to talk about the start of the building work and this and that. He said he could probably start at the beginning of February or probably in the middle of February we would probably be notified by what probable date he would start the building. He always said probably this, probably that, Tony was Mister “probably”.

We cleared and cleaned the place where our new home would stand. It was on a hillside just beneath where the bush started. We had a panoramic view over the grazing land down to the lazy flowing river. Majestic Gumtrees hugging the sky, contented cattle peacefully grazing all this was far removed from the every day hustle and bustle of the outside world. It was magic.

The month of February arrived, went into the middle and then to the end of the month and still there was no sign of Mister “probably's work brigade.”. The bricks and materials were delivered from Toni, as he also manufactured the bricks. We thought it was probably about time to go and ask him the definitive time of the commencement of the building work. He promised not probably this week but for sure to start probably the coming week and oh wonder, the workers arrived early in the morning carrying their eskies , and started the building of our house.

The mantelpiece . In our lounge room we wanted a big fireplace. We consulted Toni and explained to him what sort of fireplace we expected him to build for us. He said he pretty well knew what we required but we hadn’t mentioned the mantelpiece. In his view every fireplace has a mantelpiece. Reluctantly, we didn’t really know what he talked about, we agreed to a mantelpiece, as there was no escape from it.

Every time he got hold of us he went on about the mantelpiece how beautiful it would be, the crowning glory of our lounge room. The fireplace was build so it didn’t look what we had in mind. We still hadn’t sighted the elusive mantelpiece that by now was wrapped in an aura of glory seldom achieved again. The building of the house was finished. It took six month from start to finish. In our view it was actually quite quickly built. In Switzerland it takes much longer to build and finish a house. Though the house was also much simpler. There was no attic to speak of, no cellars, no heating and no double glazing of windows.

The fireplace had its inauguration without the mantelpiece. By this time we were intrigued and we really wanted it badly as the fireplace cried out for its very own mantelpiece. We went to Toni's office and inquired once more about “our” mantelpiece. He said it was ready and he would deliver it tomorrow. We were quite astonished by his sudden cooperation.

The next day we went shopping to Grafton. When we returned, there was a long rough looking plank outside our gate. We wondered what it was, Peter then took it into the shed. The mantelpiece was still not delivered and Peter and I went to see Tony. Ah, he said one of my workers delivered it today like I promised; he left it before your gate, as it was locked and nobody was at home. Peter and I looked at each other we were not able to say a word. We were flabbergasted and then we both laughed and laughed and couldn’t stop. I said, thank you Tony for the mantelpiece and then I laughed again. He complimented us out of his office shaking his head and dismissed us without another word.

At home we collected the plank from the shed. It was a very ordinary piece of wood actually just like any piece of wood available at any sawmill. We were rather puzzled; Mister “probably” must not have found us worthy of his promised, beautiful mantelpiece. For a while we wondered which fireplace was adorned with our mantelpiece. We sanded and polished the rough wood until it shone and wrote the date on it and if all went well it is still there above the fireplace, the mantelpiece. It is a modest house in pink blocks, inside rendered white. The only attempt to grandeur was a very broad veranda along the front of the house adorned with Palladian Pillars and a broad staircase leading up to it on that Toni absolutely insisted. I guessed Andrea Palladio would have bewildered scratched his neck. When the concrete for the veranda floor was poured one of the workers had waylaid his watch. Accusingly he looked at me and asked if I had seen it by any chance. I said no, but I had the funny feeling he didn’t believe me and this gave me quite a shock. Lamely I said it might have fallen into the concrete. He gave me another searching look and then fervently searched in the gooey thick concrete. He didn’t find his watch it might still be ticking in that concrete floor.

The kitchen, living room and hall were tiled with unglazed quarry tiles. The tiler was not very careful in laying these tiles as he made an awful mess of his job. While he was laying the tiles I didn’t notice it. Only, after he had finished and left, I noticed, that the tiles were encrusted with hard concrete and not properly cleaned. I spent many days on my knees cleaning and scraping the hardened concrete from each tile. The curses I hailed upon him might still haunt him today.

With the joinery we didn’t have much luck either. The kitchen cupboards were not to bad so nothing was laminated and I had to paint, stain or oil all the doors and shelves. This man, I later found out he was not a joiner but a bank clerk turned joiner, made also a corner bench in the kitchen. In Switzerland I had this beautiful corner bench made of a special wood “Arvenholz”. I had a vision of the same for my kitchen so I knew it wouldn’t be Arvenholz. I was a bit suspicious when I saw him at his work. When the bench was finished it was an absolute aesthetic failure and the rough wood was hazardous when sitting down with the odd splinter lodging itself in a soft backside.

I complained to the man of his shabby work. I was so mad I said to him I had seen better benches in old third class trains. He was very indignant and didn’t know what the fuss was about and all in all it was the” bloody wall” that was not straight. I tried to make the bench more comfortable and nicer looking with cushions to no avail it was just an awful unskilled made bench. Every time I cleaned that cursed bench I grazed my fingers on a nail sticking out or a piece of rough wood not properly sanded until I had just enough. Under a lot of swearing I ripped the whole thing out which was a lot of hard work my dream of a “Arvenholz” corner bench finished.

With time the house was finished and I had learned and accepted that many things were different in our chosen new homeland and that trivial items like “Arvenholz “ corner benches were not at all that important. Peter didn’t bother at all.

In Switzerland he had been very particular about everything in the house. Emphasis on designer light switches and doorhandles, which is rather silly if I think about it now.

Here he is so occupied and happy with his land and the animals, as long he has a reasonable roof over his head, he does not mind a crooked bench, and some other beauty failures in the house. He always said:” look here, it is not important at all, we are always outside anyway! I knew that, but I like things to look aesthetic and I rather not have it than looking wrong or ugly. I wanted everything as well done and to be as nice as I had it in Switzerland. I think for women especially in my case, as I did all the housework and spend much more time inside it was harder to accept those things in the house. I have to learn not to be so particular anymore. Our living room has not yet furniture. We did not bring our furniture. A big fireplace and along the walls inbuilt bookcases to accommodate our books when they arrive. for the time being we don't need furniture, in the evening we are so tired we just fall into the beds! We don't have a Television and we don't have a Telephone. The Kitchen is alright. It looks cosy with small, dark red tiles surrounding the cook and work area. It is a live in, eat in, and do everything else kitchen, it is the main room in the house.

Our containers have now arrived from Sydney. We left them in storage until the new house was ready to move in. It is very exciting for all of us to unpack, just a little bit like Christmas- or birthday presents. Soon the house looks much more like home, familiar with cherished and loved possessions. Every morning I buy the Daily Examiner to know what is going on in the district. It is called the "local rag"! We are so remote from the news we learn much later about the disaster that hit Darwin. I have started to play Tennis again. Toni our builder has a Tennis court and we can use it. We never play singles it is always doubles. It is hot, so most of the time we sit around to sip on something cold. The "Tennis girls" love to gossip about people I don't know. It is not malicious just trivia, a bit boring. They always ask me to say words in Swedish and ask about "ABBA"! I have explained that I am not Swedish. To no avail they still ask me to translate certain words into Swedish, I translate them into Swiss German and it doesn't matter, because they say this sounds funny and in the same second they have forgotten it again. There are no other foreigners around. The Europeans who came earlier, just after the war are all Australians by now and don't speak their own language anymore. So we are a bit a novelty for the moment.

While I gathered the warm, dry grass to mulch the garden beds, the music of Beethoven’s sixth Sinfonie from within the house wakened my senses already seduced by the sweet smell of the sun-dried hay. I felt this serenity transcend, a brief glimpse of sheer happiness.

This music composed to the core of the European landscape impressed itself, moulded its sounds in harmony to the Australian land.

Kaneki, an aboriginal word for yellow crested Cockatoo, was sitting on the highest branch of a Bloodwood tree. He cocked his head and looked down, gave an approving squawk, shook his pristine white plumage and settled back to his afternoon nap. We rescued Kaneki from a life in a tiny cage in a dark corner of a hardware shop in Maclean. He was sitting in his cage teased by children with little sticks while we were shopping there. We thought this beautiful bird looked so infinitely sad. We asked the shopkeeper how much he wanted for the bird. He said how much do you want to pay. We said we could pay ten Dollars and he said done. We thought that he was probably glad to get rid of him. Anyway we were happy to take him home and give him a better life. He didn’t even have a name so we gave him the name Kaneki. He settled quickly at our place.

At first, Peter made him a long ladder up to the Bloodwood tree. First he had a chain but when he was accustomed to this area we took the chain away. In the morning we took him out of his cage and let him go up the ladder on the tree. All day he was sitting on his tree throwing down leaves and small twigs. In the evening we would call up to him, Kaneki come down, we actually said it in Swiss dialect “chum aba” to him. First he would bombard us in disgust with leaves and twigs but in the end he always came down into the cage to spend the night. Flocks of yellow crested cockatoos would come and visit him. They settled on the tree like big white flowers. Kaneki never flew away with them. Until it happened that he met this really nice looking cockatoo lady. She visited him on his tree and sometimes he flew away with her but he always came back. But then after the marriage his absence from the Bloodwood tree grew longer and longer.

When we saw a flock of cockatoos flying above our garden we would always sing out his name Kaneki. Sometimes he would quickly settle on the Bloodwood tree, but with time he forgot his tree and he forgot us.

Copyright T.S.

Photo T.S.Chapter 25

Under a hotter Sun

Saturday, September 7, 2024

Under a Hotter Sun.

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