Christmas in the bush, 2021.                                               Ken Windsor

 

It was idyllic.

On Christmas day, there were ten of us at the homestead for a traditional baked lunch with the air conditioning running full strength. By the evening the rest of the group had arrived.

Seven caravans, plus swags and a roof-top tent, on a property thirty plus kilometres from anywhere and one kilometre from the farmhouse. Set up on the edge of a twenty-five-acre dam, with no power, no internet and intermittent cell-phone service. Totally off the grid.

Thirty-three in residence plus fourteen visitors on Christmas Day, a total of forty-seven for dinner.

Each family contributed to the buffet lunch. Ham, turkey, pork, chicken, beef and lamb, supported by a wide variety of salads. Finished off with fruit platters and a Christmas cake that was moist enough to be a pudding.

The weather was perfect, temperatures hovering in the low to mid-thirties and full sun during the day, with a light breeze to temper the heat of the sun.

There were plenty of water activities. One of the families brought their ski-boat, with a range of towable inflatables, wake board and water skis. Others brought stand-up paddle boards and kayaks. There were floatation vests to cover everyone who needed one.

The teenagers set up a cricket pitch in the centre of the campsite and the less energetic sat in comfortable camp chairs and watched the activities. The even less energetic, sat in front of a television and watched the cricket test match, to see England being thrashed. Only three channels were available during the day, luckily one of them showed the test match.

The grand parent group took a cruise around the dam to discover a dead tree in the water containing a cormorant or shag’s nest. When the boat moved by fast, the bird did not move. When the boat circled the tree slowly, the bird took flight, revealing three or four chicks on the nest, with open beaks, looking for mother.

What an idyllic setting. Something for everyone with peace and quiet.

Isn’t that lovely? Now, the cynical soul takes over!

Prior to Christmas Eve, we watched the weather reports. If rain had been forecast, the event was off. Too many kilometres of dirt road to navigate towing a van and the track to the dam, around a wheat paddock has a very boggy patch halfway in that has trapped caravans and even four-wheel drives in the past.

Okay, weather forecast clear. It is on! Final items were thrown into the caravan at the last minute and we were off. The trip out was uneventful. The aircon in the car gave us a false sense of things to come. We got through the bad patch on the track. The driver’s side had water in the wheel ruts but earlier traffic had cut a swerve into the paddock which was almost dry.

We arrived at the campsite to find four vans already set up. The owners had left to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas morning with in-laws. They would be back for tomorrow’s activities. It was hot! We set-up our little caravan, attached an awning and sat down with a cold beer. It was hot.

Later in the day, the next family turned up and parked beside us, forming a rough horseshoe of caravans. Two sons set up swags in a ute a little way down the track. Two daughters were staying in the van with mum and dad. He was finishing his set up when I heard him shout “Snake” from three metres away. (For the non-metric readers, a metre is three inches longer than a yard so he was close.)

Now, when it comes to snakes, I make no apologies for being a professional coward. Five hundred metres is a safe distance between me and a snake, unless it is in a fully secured enclosure. I cowered and quivered on the top step of my van while the part-owner of the place came running along with a long-handled spade and the two of them proceeded to hunt down the snake. It was a young eastern brown, one of the deadliest snakes in the world. The owner, let’s call him “A”, was dressed in shorts and an open shirt. I heard his wife say to one of the onlookers who had gathered, “It’s okay, he’s got his boots on!” I thought ‘Yes, just the right attire for Boot Hill!’ The snake lost the game of hide and seek, with the spade neatly separating head from body. “A” held up the writhing body by the tail and threw it into the scrub. To me, in my state of abject fear, it looked two metres long. In reality, it was about half a metre.

It was hot. The sweat was soaking my shirt.

The afternoon passed into evening and dinner was prepared. The campsite is dominated by an original bandstand from a pub. It has a solid corrugated iron roof and back and is gauzed in on the other three sides. An ideal place to set up the buffet table for dinner. What a spread! Cooked prawns for entrée, five meat platters and a variety of salads. I’ve seen less at first class hotels – they certainly put on a spread in the bush. Our contribution was a leg of ham which I had glazed and baked on the Thursday.

‘A’ had been presented with a nine-kilogram (2.2lbs to the kg) turkey to cook. It’s a good job it was dead because I reckon it could have outrun all of us. It was too big for the farm-house oven so it ended up in the portable pizza oven outside. Unfortunately, the wind came up and blew out the gas burners on the oven so it was relocated to the enclosed back veranda of the house. It was even hotter with the pizza oven going at the back door.

Because turkey was not a usual item on the menu, ‘A’ decided to check cooking methods. The obvious place to look was on American Thanksgiving Day sites. He found a suitable recipe and when he calculated cooking times, he found that due to its size it required ten hours in the oven. The poor fella had been up since six a.m. to have this bird ready for dinner. It was definitely worth the effort.

After dinner, it was time for a coffee. We normally carry a coffee pod machine in our van, but this trip, with no 240v power, it was left at home. I filled our kettle with water and put it on the two-burner gas stove to boil and went to prepare the cups. “Where is the coffee?” I enquired. You guessed it. It is still in the kitchen cupboard at home. I then suffered the ignominy of creeping around the campsite with a cup held, in two hands, in front of my face, like a Buddhist Monk in Thailand begging for alms. Luckily, Mrs P had a pack of instant cappuccino coffee that she did not use. It lasted us ‘til we got back home! This time it was coffee, last time at a similar gathering five years ago, it was toilet rolls! But we scored a pack of rolls in that night’s secret Santa! – talk about luck.

Boxing day dawned with storm clouds to the west of us. It was hot!  With no power, we took cold showers. One would think that immersing a hot body in cold water would be refreshing. Not so! The water tank was low down in an insulated caravan, when the shower was turned on, the very cold water almost sizzled on the hot body. The reaction was instinctive and resulted in a bruise on the head from bouncing off the low ceiling.  

Outside, water activities continued. The small, almost circular inlet next to the campsite was full of young people cooling off. The ski-boat was picking up another three for a fun ride on a towed inflatable “biscuit” when I heard the dreaded call “Snake! - Everybody out of the water”- “Now!” At Bondi, it would have been “Shark” and accompanied by screaming sirens and several lifeguards with megaphones. Here in the bush, within seconds of splashing and slippery bodies scrabbling up the wet bank, the water was empty apart from the boat and a slim, black snake, heading for the far bank. “A” who had made the call leaped from his seat, cleared several obstacles in one bound and headed, at a gallop, picking up his trusty spade on the way to the other side of the bay. The boat driver nosed into the bank and joined him in the search. This time, the snake won and went to ground, not to be seen again. Within ten minutes, the water sports were back in full swing.

The sky was looking ominous with black storm clouds circling. We were still in bright sunlight when the wind started to blow strongly. There was a move to fold up the caravan awnings. On our van, one tent pole had shifted and dislodged the stretcher holding it out from the van, so the awning now drooped on one corner. It did not take long to decide to pull it down and pack it away – we are leaving tomorrow; it will save time in the morning. With the aid of our neighbours, we got it wrapped and ready for transport. Without the neighbours, Audrey and I would probably have struggled and been flown like uncontrolled parachutists across the countryside.

A light shower of rain fell during the afternoon but the main storm cells bypassed us. The sky cleared, although the wind continued strongly through the night. In the morning, after a bowl of cornflakes, I took a walk around the campsite. Picked up a slice of bread here, a piece of bacon and a sausage from there, made a sandwich and went back to the van to make a cup of coffee. The young boys were out throwing balls at each other and defending themselves with cricket bats as others milled around, saying farewells and hitching vans to vehicles.

It was our turn to move, to allow the next van to get his 4WD in to hitch-up. Windows open, arms waving, shouts of “see ya!” followed us along the track, past the boggy patch and onto the dirt road for home. What a lovely, idyllic way to spend Christmas in the bush.

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?’