Wandering Windsors

Waiting, waiting, waiting …..

After several emails it has been established that the annex for our caravan went to a customer who bought a smaller van. We got their annex and they got ours.

The other customer had not responded to contact by the company for over a week, hence the delay.

Net result is that we have not been able to road-test our caravan yet. We are still waiting for a carrier to deliver our annex and pick-up the one we have. Then we should be able to set up and go!

There are many places we would like to visit but a couple have been considered for a short shake-down trip. One is to join an AAC “muster” in Orange but that one starts in ten days. We might not be set-up by then. Another trip is to go back to Lightening Ridge after forty years, to see the changes. We have been told it is a very different place to the one we visited. Then there is Trangie. We have read very good reports of the caravan park, or Wellington Caves, where upgrades have been completed.

At the moment, it is all still in “dream-time”.

Waiting, waiting, waiting…..

Wandering Windsors

Arrival of the caravan.

“We will deliver it to you as soon as it is ready and registered.” That was the claim at the time of ordering the caravan and paying the deposit. A ‘phone call three weeks later stated: “Everything is ready, but I can’t get a driver for the delivery. Would you like to pick it up?”

I contacted Dennis. “Want a drive to Sydney on Saturday?”

The plan was set. Collect Dennis at 7 a.m. on Saturday, drive to Sydney, hook up the caravan and drive home. A simple plan for the 800 Km round trip.

I drove to the half-way point where we stopped for coffee and a toasted sandwich. Dennis drove to Castle Hill where we collected the caravan. We went through the handover procedure. The electrics and the battery were checked. I was instructed on the gas system and operation of the three-way fridge. Put the annexe in its brand new box into the back of the Xtrail and connected the van to the car. The twelve pin plug on the caravan did not fit the seven pin socket on the car. Not a problem, an adaptor was supplied to get us mobile. The operation of the lights was checked. Everything was in order. I signed the delivery docket and drove away proudly with my little caravan in tow.

The first two roundabouts were negotiated with caution. There was no real need. Even though it is a full height van, it has the footprint of a ten by seven trailer and tracked behind the Xtrail without a problem. The mirrors were watched for any abnormality but the caravan followed at 110 kph on the motorway with no sideways movement.

On the way home we had a comfort stop about half way, stretched our legs and topped up with fuel. We arrived home at 6 p.m.

The fuel consumption was surprising. With an empty van, (No water or equipment except for one gas cylinder) and driving faster than would normally be the holiday pace, we only used 3 litres of fuel per 100 kilometres more than normal for the car.

We arrived home to find two wives waiting anxiously at the door. After seven or eight attempts, the caravan was reversed through the gate into the yard and parked. It was time for a beer and dinner.

The next morning with a strong wind blowing, I attempted to erect the annex. You guessed it; I did not have a hope. I sullenly admitted defeat and packed it back into its bag. Two days later with no wind, I tried again. This time, it was successful, except the awning was too small. It was not long enough to reach the ground on either side of the van.

I telephoned the news to the dealer who agreed to replace the annexe with a larger one. I will be returning the small one through a freight company and waiting for the arrival of a new one. After making sure that it fits, we will plan a short shake-down trip.

 Caravan with awning set up. The line at the bottom should be parallel to the ground.

Hi, folks!

Here is the start of a new phase of life for the Windsors.

We have done our fair share of travelling over the years through Europe and Asia with a couple of incursions into the Middle East. We have one holiday trip in New Zealand booked for next year and then we will take a break to see more of Australia.

This is prompted by several things. Among them are the long times required to sit in aeroplanes to get out of Australia, the political instability in many places around the world and, we are getting older!

Political instability has not worried us in the past (maybe foolishly). We have been in Bangkok during a military coup and we were bustled hurriedly out of Istanbul due to the “risk factor”. Some years ago, we left Egypt just before a wave of attacks on tourists commenced.  We had one member of our group spat on in the El Khalili Bazaar in Cairo.

So, what are we going to do?

We are joining the “grey nomads”. We have bought a small caravan and will become:

Ken at Mudgee

“The Wandering Windsors.”

I first saw the micro caravan at the Mudgee Small Farm Field Days. Audrey was not interested.

The same caravan was on display at the Dubbo Camping and Four Wheel Drive Show. It was pointed out to us by friends. Audrey had a look inside and became almost interested. Discussions took place, along with a quick mental review of finances and the first tentative steps made. We paid a deposit on the van!

Now we are waiting for delivery. While waiting, I borrowed a Bobcat digger and prepared a hardstand parking spot for it in the backyard. It is now full of road base material, waiting for me to get hold of a “whacker packer” to compact the patch.

The caravan is a Euro Sunseeker. It is well within the towing capacity of our current vehicle. It has a 3.1 metre by 2.05 metre body (10’2”x 6’9”). This small space includes a bathroom (Shower and toilet), Cook-top, refrigerator and dinette which folds down to a double bed. We also ordered a fully enclosed annexe. For two of us, it should be cosy.

The first shake-down trip could be later this month or early November.

Watch this space for tales of the Wandering Windsors.

My poem was published in

" The Bronze Swagman Book of Bush Verse 2015"

Billabong reverie

The billabong is full again, first time for quite a while.

The Boab tree is leafless now, quite stark in dark profile.

The cloudless sky is steely blue as winter casts its spell.

I sit here reminiscing, love and tears begin to well.

We sat right here when we first met, young lovers holding hands.

We shared our hopes and dreams, dear and fantasy tinged our plans.

A lot of dreams were not to be, but many did come true.

The best one was our wedding day, such joy for me and you.

The sun is moving slowly, love towards the western hill,

I hear the cattle lowing as they come to drink their fill.

We used to watch the poddy calves frolic in the water,

mothers gently pushed them clear, a nose on young hindquarter.

Life was good in the early days, we worked with mum and dad.

We worked the land, our first arrived, still-born and we were sad.

Two years went by, memory dimmed and you bore us a son,

a fine big boy at college now, admired by everyone.

The sun has reached the hill, love the sky has an orange glow.

The cattle have gone, now kangaroos, moving very slow,

nervously twitching their noses then bowing heads to drink.

Ripples of water radiate, the sky now shades of pink.

Dad passed on, we nurtured the land and mum went to a home.

Many years passed, we took a trip we wanted to see Rome.

The trip was good, we saw the sights a long way from the farm.

We came home, unpacked our ports and slipped back into the calm.

The sun is over the hill, love not too much more to see.

A fox came down a while ago, nervous, ready to flee.

The creatures of night are moving now, in the dim star light.

Eyes are sparkling in the dark, as we drift into the night.

Its twelve months since I left you, you sat with me to the end.

Since our son came back to the farm, your heart begins to mend.

As I look down I see you grow strong, I am filled with pride.

My job is done; I can go and move to the other side.

The white cockatoos have screeched good night, from the boab tree,

And I have left the billabong for other folk to see.

I’m now at rest, I’ve done my best, in time you will join me

in this calm and tranquil place together eternally.

The Bamboo Jungle

A recent trip to China generated discussions of giant pandas. It was discovered that far from being cuddly pets, they are of the bear family and can be aggressive and dangerous.

This resulted in the following fictional story from the imagination of Ken Windsor.

The Bamboo Jungle    

         

The stony ground was patterned by the flickering shadows of bamboo leaves as they fluttered in the light of the setting sun. Mist was forming on the valley floor as Jiang tenderly touched Liwu’s cheek and their lips met in a fleeting kiss.

“I must leave!” Liwu broke the embrace and moved towards the path down the slope.

“I will wait a few moments before I follow. We don’t want the elders to find out about us yet.” Jiang sighed with desire as Liwu departed.

Liwu waved as she disappeared into the shadows shrouding the path to the village.

Yuntang grunted and scratched his furry belly as he awoke from his sleep. Weighing two hundred kilograms, he was large for a wild panda. He rolled over onto all fours, raising his head sniffing the air for signs of danger. He shambled a few paces in the crisp mountain air. His limbs were stiff from his sleep. He could sense other creatures moving in the shadows but none exuded the scent of danger.

Many metres above to Yuntang’s left, Liwu carefully picked her way along the path towards her home. She gingerly placed her feet on the track so the sharp rocks didn’t penetrate the thin soles of her sandals. Her hands occasionally pushed aside a bamboo growing across the path. She was thinking of Jiang as she walked. He was a good man. He was better than most of the men in the small, isolated mountain village. His father farmed a small plot of land that sustained his family. His small herd of goats flourished in the harsh land and provided many of his needs, food, milk, clothing and a small bonus when he could barter a young kid for other necessities.

Jiang would take over the small farm when his father was no longer able to work. Liwu was pleased with herself. She had been secretly meeting Jiang and their friendship was developing into a courtship. Soon though, they would have to tell their parents. Her step down the path became lighter as she thought of the prospect.

Yuntang shuffled up the slope looking for fresh bamboo shoots to satisfy his hunger. He stopped at a small stand of bamboo and pushed his snout into the centre. Two young shoots rapidly disappeared between his chomping jaws. Shaking his head from side to side, he withdrew from the plants and grunting with each step, moved further up the slope.

Liwu continued down the path thinking of the formalities ahead. When they declared their courtship, under the ancient Chinese ritual, Jiang’s parents would have to approach her parents with a request for a formal meeting. If the meeting was granted, which it almost always was, there would be bartering from both sides to extract the best possible outcome for both families.

Yuntang found a long, thin clearing bordered by great clumps of bamboo. He ripped off several stems and sat on his haunches, almost human-like as his strong jaws and razor-sharp teeth ground the bamboo to a pulp.

Liwu was light-headed as the path made a detour around a large rock outcrop. She stepped around it with her head full of wedding plans and the twittering of birds, disturbed by her passage. Too late she saw the huge black and white creature within touching distance. She screamed and raised her hands in horror.

Yuntang was just as startled − in a reflex action, generated more by fear than aggression, he lashed out with his huge paw. The rapier-like claws ripped across the girl’s midriff. The twittering of the birds and the bear’s growl of alarm were the last things she heard. Yuntang, panicked by the sudden disturbance and the girl’s scream, turned and blundered through the jungle to escape.

Jiang, a few minutes behind Liwu heard the scream and broke into a run. He rounded the rock outcrop and saw Liwu’s torn body. Comprehension was immediate. He saw Yuntang’s path through the jungle. Sanity was driven out by revenge and he rushed headlong onto the panda’s track.

Yuntang only ran fifty metres or so and his fear was overcome by the instinctive urge to eat. He stopped and sniffed the air, the foul stench of the human was gone; he resumed foraging for food.

Jiang could hear Yuntang moving and grunting as he ripped off bamboo shoots. Without coherent thought, Jiang picked up a fallen branch and rushed towards Yuntang.

Yuntang, once again caught by surprise, raised himself to full height on his rear legs and lunged towards the charging man. As Yuntang came down above him, Jiang pushed the end of the branch into the panda’s open, drooling mouth. The free end of the branch dug into the ground and the force of Yuntang’s charge drove the branch up through his pallet into his brain.

Jiang stood triumphant as the bear rolled in its death throes.

The adrenaline drained from Jiang’s body and reality struck like a huge hammer.

Jiang fell to his knees, his head in his hands.

He emitted a drawn-out, soulful wail.

“Oh Liwu!” His tears ran between his fingers and dropped onto the stony ground.

Super Sleuth Stu

Another win in the Aspiring Writers group competition.
"Super Sleuth Stu" will be published in the 2015 Anthology early in 2016.

At 9.15 a.m. the strident tone of my cell phone disturbs my reverie. I pick it up.

‘Hello, Super Sleuth Stu, how can I help you?’ The lady sounds frantic.

‘Francis is gone and the auction is at two. You have to help me!’

‘Okay, lady, calm down. Who is Francis and what has he got to do with an auction?’

‘It’s Francis of Assisi!’

‘But lady, he’s been gone for several hundred years!’

‘No, no! It’s the painting of Saint Francis of Assisi! It’s worth thousands and it’s gone – and the auction is at two and I have to find it!

‘Lady, slow down! What’s your name and where are you?’

‘I’m Celia at the Gaston Gallery. We came in this morning and the painting was gone. Please help me!’

‘Okay, Celia, I’ll be there in a few minutes. Don’t let anyone near the scene.’

Gaston Gallery is a door on Main Street plastered with posters announcing ‘Auction Today - Modern and classical artworks.’ I press the button and wait, looking up and down the grey streetscape. The door opens and I look down on a middle-aged lady, wringing her hands in obvious distress. I guess it is Celia.

‘Hi Celia, I’m Stu. Tell me what happened!’ She directs me into the gallery where there is a blank space among the displayed artworks.

‘Francis was there last night and this morning, he was gone!’ Tears fill her eyes.

‘He is the draw-card for today’s auction – I have to find him or Peter will never forgive me!’

‘Let’s start at the beginning! Who is Peter?’

‘He owns the gallery.’

‘Does he have any enemies?’

‘Not really, his brother, Merv would like to see him crash. Merv has some shady connections and Peter’s ex-girlfriend, Suzie still has a chip on her shoulder – she’d like to see him fail.’

‘Who had access to the premises last night?’

‘Oh, they all did.’

‘Are there any signs of a break-in?’

‘No, everything is locked, but Merv and Suzie both have keys.’

‘Where does this go? I indicate a door at the end of the room.

‘It goes downstairs to the store and workshop.’ As she turns the light on I see a glittering object on the stairs. I stoop and pick up a diamond ear ring.

‘That looks like the one Peter wears, he must have dropped it!’

The workshop is a mess with paintings propped against the walls.

‘Does Suzy wear blue socks?’

‘No, why do you ask?’

‘There’s one on the floor at the end of the bench.’

‘I’ll have to speak to those cleaners! They were supposed to clean everything last night, ready for the auction.’

The sounds of footsteps boom on the floor above.

‘The auction is about to start!’ Celia raises her hands to her cheeks in horror.

‘What’s under this sheet?’ Celia turns to look.

“They are paintings to be checked.’ I flick through them. Celia squeals.

‘That’s Francis! That last one you turned. Let’s get it up to the gallery!’

We rush the painting up the stairs and I place it on the vacant hook.

A man comes mincing across the room. The name-tag identifies him as Peter.

‘Where did you find that? Peter’s eyes narrow as he looks at me.

‘It was in the workshop, where you concealed it. I also found an ear ring on the stairs that looks like yours.’

Pretty Pete flicks a wayward curl from over his right eye and slides it behind his ear. A disdainful sneer slithers across his face.

‘You can’t accuse me just on that ear ring! Anybody with two thousand dollars can buy one at Sears.’

‘Oh, it’s not just the ear ring! There was a raw hide dog bone on the floor between the paintings.’ Peter laughs.

‘They’re all over the place!’

‘That may be so but you are the only person here who has a prissy little poodle that chews boutique raw hide dog bones and wears blue socks! − Was the insurance payout your target?’

The Civil War Box

Another win in The Aspiring Writers USA competition.
It will eventually appear in the 2015 anthology which will be available through Amazon.


The Civil War Box by Ken Windsor

‘Patsy! Look at this! It looks like a relic from the Civil War! The ring is engraved with a heart and the letters AVM and CAK. There’s also a note.’
‘What does the note say?’
‘It says “My dearest Amelia, We are crossing the Rappahannock River at first light to finish off the Confederates. Here is a ring to celebrate our engagement. We may cross the Pony Express route in the next few days. If we do, I will send it to you. Whatever way, my dear, I will see you in two weeks. All my love, Al.”
Patsy took the box I had found in the mud on a field-trip to research water fowl habitats and reread the note. She looked at the beautiful ring.
‘Too fussy for today’s fashion but I guess it would have become an heirloom in the 1860’s. I wonder what stories it could tell?’
Chet and Patsy completed their project for Professor Ogle and received a pass for their efforts. At the end of the semester, they went their different ways, Patsy into medical studies to become a doctor and Chet to Physics and engineering.
The ‘85 Class reunion was in full swing. Chet Stevens and his wife Emily were standing at the corner of the buffet, watching the crowd.
‘Wasn’t it 1985 that you found that ring?’ Emily asked.
‘It sure was! I was on a bird-watching project with – Patsy McLune, yes that was her name. I wonder if she’s here? Let’s go and ask Mike.
Mike pointed Patsy out to Chet.
Emily followed Chet across to where Patsy and her husband, Tom stood, talking together.
‘Hi, Patsy! Remember me?’ Patsy spun around.
‘I’d recognise that voice anywhere; you’re Chet from Ogle’s ornithology group, aren’t you?’
‘The very same, and this is my wife Emily.’ Introductions were made and they moved to a small table in a quiet corner to talk. Chet started.
‘How did you medical degree go?’
‘To be honest, it didn’t. I got almost to the end and changed direction. It was your Civil War box that did it. Do you remember it?’
‘I certainly do. It changed my direction a bit too! But, you first. What happened?’
‘I remembered those initials from the note and started doing some research. It was intriguing and I was totally absorbed by it. I met Tom at the library when I was digging through the Civil War records. He was the Assistant Manager and gave me a lot of help in areas where I was really lost.’ Patsy looked across at Tom like only a devoted wife can. We did find out a lot about the people, we also got married and I changed career path from medicine to history. I am now the historian at the State Library! What did you do? Are you designing turbines?’ Patsy raised her eyebrows expectantly. Emily smiled.
“Detective Superintendent Stevens is a long way from designing turbines!’ I took over.
‘I also had a change of direction, mainly driven by the Civil War box! I did some digging into the owner of the ring. I found that it belonged to Major Cholmondeley Aloysius Kent, a member of the British aristocracy. He came to America when the family fell on hard times and joined the army. The love of his life was Amelia Victoria Merewether, of the Missouri Merewethers. They never did marry as the Major died in the conflict. It is assumed that the box fell from his pocket in the river crossing, ending up in the mud, where I found it. So, the Civil War box as you called it changed me as well. I enjoyed the search and the data analysis so much, I changed my studies to law and joined the police force.’
Tom, hugging Patsy’s shoulder asked, ‘What happened to the ring?’
‘My research went further on Amelia’s family. She eventually married and I traced a great great granddaughter, also named Amelia. I gave her the ring, with a copy of my research papers. She was ecstatic to learn about the mysterious Englishman, “Al” who was mentioned in her family history. – What a powerful box − changing lives after more than 150 years!’