“A Deer’s Castration”: Monday, 9th May, 1977

The holidays begin for those children who attend the schools run by the Government of New South Wales.

I listened to the return of radio personality, John Laws, after his much-publicised second heart attack, and did not shave or shower until 9.00 a.m. I left at ten past ten to do some shopping after having listened to him interview English actor, Robin “Doctor In The House”/”Doctor At Sea” etcetera Nedwell. It was a quarter past eleven before I returned and watched the remainder of Channel Seven’s “11 A.M.”, presented by Steve Liebmann.

At noon, “The Mike Walsh Show” had Jimmy Hannan as its guest host. Helen Wellings, an agent for the Department of Consumer Affairs, told of how she was a school teacher for two years in Victoria. One year was spent in a rough industrial town and the other in Melbourne. Bandmaster, Geoff Harvey, used a sock which contained two squash balls to demonstrate how deers are castrated. Afterwards, the diminutive comedian, Sean Kramer, appeared as an Irish spy.

This afternoon’s edition of “Mannix” has the private detective posing as a drug addict to catch the crooks.

Speaking on “Willesee”, this evening, jockey, Malcolm Johnston, announces that he will be leaving to ride in Britain as soon as the strike at the airport ends.

“In The Wild”, with Harry Butler, follows “This Day, Tonight”, at eight o’clock, on ABC-TV’s Channel Two. Tonight’s programme takes the viewer to the Wandoo Forest, in the south-west of Western Australia. Episode 16 of “Rich Man, Poor Man: Book 2” appears on Channel Seven, from half past eight.

An Unforgettable Experience: Wednesday, 15th August, 1979

I awoke and left our room to ascertain what time it was by visiting the clock in the corridor. As it was twenty to four, I returned to bed where I managed to sleep until five minutes past five. Tiki stated that it was “the worst night’s sleep” she’d ever had and claimed that she had achieved no more than two hours. This had been due, in part, to the fact that I had snored and when this was coupled to the racket that emanated from the outrageously loud nearby disco, it had all become too much for her to bear.

We each consumed a packet of ‘Cheezels’, washed down with the contents of a can of ‘Time’ lemonade, which had been produced in Sydney. Prior to entering the corridor for a second time, where I noted it was almost 6.15, I cleaned my teeth with ‘Ipana’ fluoride toothpaste and, as I waited patiently for Tiki to apply her makeup, I witnessed my first New Hebridean sunrise.

It was half past six when we passed the clock in the corridor, however, when we reached the foyer the principal clock showed twenty past the hour. We had just made ourselves comfortable and were enjoying the aroma of bacon being fried, when I produced one of our pink tickets and noticed that the bus to the airport was scheduled to arrive at 6.30 and not 6.45, as I had in mind.

Hence, it was without delay that we made our way to the main entrance where we were soon joined, firstly by a French mother and daughter who had brought a suitcase, accompanied by lesser forms of baggage, and secondly two gentleman. One of plump physique and the other, slim. Both of whom nattered away in French.

A quarter to seven came and went and perhaps five minutes after that, the heavier of the two men suddenly converted into speaking perfect English, as he explained of how he had heard that buses meant to link intended passengers with their flights to Tanna Island, sometimes were known not to materialise. As time was of the essence and as the pair possessed a rental car, the four of us were invited to accompany them to Port Vila’s airport.

No sooner had the gentleman left to retrieve the vehicle, than a mini bus appeared and after the workers, it contained, had alighted, we took it upon ourselves to explain our situation and the driver, a native, agreed to convey the six of us to the airport. The journey was a speedy, yet, pleasant one of some four or five miles and upon our arrival we handed our pink tickets to the driver in order that he might then claim payment.

Inside the terminal, we presented our yellow tickets, provided to us by Air Melanesiae, that would permit us to board the flight of some one hundred miles. However, firstly we each had to take it in turns to stand on a scale, in order that our individual weights could be recorded. Something we found to be not only rather amusing, but unique.

Tiki and I were feeling peckish. Therefore, at a cost of 60 FNH, for each, she decided to purchase two ‘Mars’ bars. Instead of having been made in nearby New Zealand or Australia, we soon discovered that they had been imported from England, which, coupled with the fact that we were purchasing them at an airport, presumably made them appear to be so expensive.

After we had observed a ‘Fokker Friendship’ depart, it was time for the six of us to leave the terminal and board the ‘Britten Norman’ that awaited us on the tarmac. Having photographed Tiki as she stood in front of the aeroplane, meant that we were the last to enplane. As Tiki tends to suffer from claustrophobia , she objected to us being seated in the rear seats, with no window on either side. Hence, as a result, I ended up in what would have been the co-pilot’s seat, had we had one, while Tiki occupied the seat immediately behind me and next to the plump gentleman, who earlier had spoken French so fluently.

Prior to takeoff, he explained that he was actually English and that he has lived in Paris for the past ten years. A city that isn’t to his liking. He also explained that he and his male accomplice were travelling to Tanna, in order, to film for a documentary.

The French pilot was perhaps aged in his mid-thirties and wore sunglasses. He activated the two engines, with the presence of the starboard one being just outside the window from me and level with where Tiki was seated. Once the pilot had completed the mandatory testing of all of the equipment, necessary for a safe flight, the plane was taxied to the end of the runway where he awaited the clearance to become airborne.

This wasn’t long in coming and I, for one, was surprised at just how little time it took before the aeroplane’s wheels lost contact with the tarmac. No sooner had this occurred than the pilot’s clipboard flew off the dashboard in front of me, as the plane climbed steeply, and presented me with the opportunity to catch it for him. I turned to Tiki and asked her to hand me my old Kodak ‘Instamatic’ camera so that I might photograph the Erakor Lagoon, as well as our current accommodation. The sunshine, that had partly emerged for our departure, was soon engulfed by cloud as we left the pretty bays along the coast of Efate behind and headed out over the ocean, in a southerly direction.

It didn’t take me long to notice that one of the two tyres on my side of the aircraft possessed no tread whatsoever. I then turned my attention to the cockpit, itself, and soon noticed that the readings of the pilot’s indicator of airspeed and the one situated before me, differed. This was also the case with the two altimeters, with the discrepancy, in this instance, being one hundred feet.

During the flight the aeroplane ascended to a height of five thousand feet, give or take a hundred! All of the while the pilot was kept busy as he consulted charts and resorted to working out what was obviously necessary on sheets of paper. He was continually adjusting the dial, which was labelled ‘tail trim’, as well as leaning across in front of me to adjust his radio from ‘High Frequency 1’ to ‘High Frequency 2’ and vice versa. It did concern me a little when he began to turn the knob, marked ‘High Frequency Gain’, back and forth as if he was experiencing difficulty in obtaining and/or maintaining contact.

Nevertheless, this didn’t deter me from taking photographs of the coast of the island, Erromango, which appeared to be, perhaps, some twenty miles in length. By this time we had experienced about three-quarters of our flight and we didn’t have to wait for too much longer before the outline of our intended destination appeared.

The aeroplane descended to approximately one thousand, five hundred feet as we crossed the relatively flat north-east of the island and passed over a small freighter as it lay at anchor. There appeared to be no sign of an airfield, anywhere, until, after a few minutes of gradual descent, a grassed strip of an exceedingly short appearance came into view.

The pilot almost wrestled with the controls as he endeavoured to reduce the aircraft’s speed to a bear minimum, in order to land it safely. His next mission was to almost caress the short trees at the end of the runway, in order to provide him with the greatest length in which to land.

Just as I began to realise that we had no hope of stopping in time, it suddenly dawned on me that the airstrip was of a concave nature and the craft was about to ascend the pronounced rise at its other end, thereby, rapidly reducing its speed. Quite understandably the pilot hadn’t conversed with me at all during the flight and had kept his headphones on for the entire time.

Tiki had drawn my attention to the Englishman seated next to her. I’d heard of a person’s face turning a shade of green during a time of great discomfort and of feeling unwell, but had never seen such an instance first hand, nor since, for that matter!

Those of use who intended to climb the volcano, regrouped in the office, which was only a short distance from where the plane had come to rest, and could only be described as little more than a shanty. The plump Englishman, whose countenance had remained green to that point, told of how he had envied me being in the co-pilot’s seat, up until he cast his eyes on the length, or lack thereof, of the airstrip.

Another Englishman, who had been seated behind Tiki during the flight, told us of how his job meant that he is stationed in Port Vila for six weeks and how he was taking advantage of the fact that today is Assumption Day, and, therefore, a public holiday in the capital, in order to climb Yasur. Tall in stature and probably around forty years of age he was attired in a pale blue shirt, shorts and sandals. When I questioned him on his choice of footwear he remarked that he imagined that the climbing of the volcano would be, and I quote, just a leisurely stroll.

A gentleman, in his late fifties or early sixties, with diminishing grey to white hair and a matching moustache, appeared and addressed the five of us who intended to ascend the fiery mountain. He had us clamber into a ‘Land Rover’, in order that we be driven along a track in the jungle. It was seen as a source of amusement that when the track we were on intersected with another one, that there should be the existence of a ‘Stop’ sign.

Upon our arrival at the gentleman’s shop in what was presumably the main centre on the island, we soon realised that Tanna was a far more primitive island than Efate. Ushered into a back room, we were shown a photo album which contained images of Yasur, belching molten lava hundreds of feet into a night’s sky.

The tall Englishman, meanwhile, was busily reading about the cult, John Frum, which is worshipped by some eighty per cent of the population on Tanna. Apparently, during World War II, a substantial American presence on the island meant that the native population was made aware of the goods and possessions that were being imported from the outside world and to this day continue to pay homage to this. The remainder of the population tend to pledge their allegiance to the Duke of Edinburgh.

We had been forewarned that we could arrive on the island only to be told that one, or even both of the tribes, did not want outsiders to climb the volcano. Therefore, we were relieved when the grey-haired gentleman waved us goodbye, after we had, again, boarded the ‘Land Rover’, safe in the knowledge that we were, indeed, bound for Yasur, itself.

Tiki and I rode in the rear of the vehicle, accompanied by the younger Englishman, who sat facing us on the other lengthwise seat. The left side of the front seat was occupied by the young dark-haired Frenchman, while in its centre sat the tall Englishman between whose legs our young native driver had to operate the lever in order to change gears.

It proved to be a really rough crossing of the island and as it involved a distance of some eighteen miles, we had ample time to converse with our pleasant, fellow passenger. He told us of how he teaches Geography at a public high school in France. He hails from the English county of Bedfordshire and, as he had already made known, resides in Paris and while he states he dislikes the city, stressed that he “has” to live there. for personal reasons.

Tiki was to tell me later that his mother lives there and that the Frenchman who was riding in the front seat, is actually his brother. This led her to reason that his parents had separated. He finds that he is “losing” his ability to speak English, and yet claims that he can’t speak fluent French unless he has planned what he is actually going to say beforehand.

He told us that the public schools in France possess little discipline and stated that on occasions pupils, and even their parents, assault teachers. A fellow teacher once rang him to ask if he would substitute for him, due to the fact that he had sustained an injury after some boys had locked him in a cupboard and then proceeded to drop it from a window on the first floor!

According to him, teaching is one of the most lowly paid professions in France and yet teachers are generally not known for going on strike. Although parents sometimes call strikes against the system of education, itself! When such an instance occurs they tend to withhold their children from attending school.

Despite his proclaimed low rate of pay, it would appear that he makes money from the 1600mm footage he films, using the camera that cost him paid two thousand pounds to purchase. Such footage is sent to ‘Kodak’ to have it splice and edited at the points highlighted by him. This has allowed him to travel extensively throughout the world, which has included several visits to the United States. He and his brother once boarded a plane, in New York, ostensibly bound for Miami, only to be told its intended destination was San Francisco.

The gentleman had spent a year in national service. During which time his training was with the French navy, however, he claimed that he spent most of it in the sick bay, due to sea sickness. This could explain why this morning’s flight affected him to the degree that it did!

Four years ago he spent three months in Sydney. He liked it to such an extent that he had planned to stay. However, he was discovered to have been working, as an actor, on a French passport and was, therefore, obliged to leave Australia.

Our native driver almost lost control of the ‘Land Rover’. Although stationary, it had threatened to topple on to another vehicle that was travelling in the opposite direction on the relatively narrow, steep-sided road.

The vegetation on the mountains was typical of Efate with cocoanut and pandanus palms prevalent. The one main difference being that the usage of the land was seen to be devoid of many of the plantations that exist on, this, the main island.

Eight miles from the volcano, our driver stopped the vehicle to allow us photograph it from a distance. It was then that I noticed an even taller peak to the right of Yasur. Although the volcano was observed to be emitting smoke, it was to become ever more noticeable the closer we came.

Our guide told me that despite the fact that he was born on Tanna, he had been educated in Luganville, the New Hebrides’ second town, on the island of Espiritu Santo, the archipelago’s largest. Perhaps forty years of age, he spoke English quite well and told me that Tanna, without fail, receives an annual cyclone. The wet season lasts from November to March, during which time it rains at least once a day.

He went on to explain that Yasur is not nearly as active as it was six or eight years ago. During which time a young Australian woman was struck by a piece of descending lava and, thereby, received a broken clavicle.

Tiki and the Anglo Frenchman appreciated the break, as it had allowed them to recover, somewhat, from the feeling of car sickness, what with us having been cooped up in the ‘Land Rover’ on such a rough road. We soon left the jungle and were driven on to a plain where windswept sand of a blackish grey colour, stretched for several kilometres.

Our group was deposited upon an outcrop of reddish brown volcanic earth. Despite it bearing no detectable cracks, it readily crumbled under foot. The wind whipped the previously described sand into our eyes, hair, noses, mouths, as well as our clothing.

There, the driver, who had climbed the volcano “a hundred times”, left us and drove off in the direction from whence we had come, in order to collect the guides who would be accompanying us. Ten minutes passed and jokes to the effect that the guides might have become lost, began to be heard.

When our guides did arrive we were amazed at just how young the pair was! They sat on the front of our vehicle’s bonnet as our driver convey us for a mile or more, to the foot of the mountain, in order that we might begin our ascent. We were each given a pole of balsa to assist us in this endeavour. I decided to carry our hand luggage with me, as it contained our passports, camera, airline tickets, thongs, et cetera.

The little guide of ten or eleven years of age led the way as he held on to Tiki’s hand. As he spoke only French, there was little verbal communication between the pair. Although Tiki did tell me later that he did utter “Look!” and “Slow” in reference to the tardiness the rest of us were displaying. I occupied ‘second’ placing while the others, accompanied by the older guide, brought up the rear.

Climbing was made even more arduous, as the sun had appeared. However, at least we were now out of that most unpleasant wind. We would take one step forward and slide half a step backwards in the fine blackish grey sand. This, in spite of the fact that we were not climbing vertically, but rather on an angle, as we headed towards a copse of green ferns to our left.

This was located about seven-eighths of way to the volcano’s rim and by the time we reached it, the plump Anglo-French gentleman still had some one hundred and fifty metres to climb. All of the men, including me, were impressed by Tiki’s endurance. I had taken the opportunity to seek out the Englishman who had chosen to wear sandals and exclaimed, “Is this what you English call a leisurely stroll?”

I remained on my feet, as I admired the view of the sea and enjoyed the shade afforded by the vegetation in such a hostile environment. The plain of fine sand stretched out below, broken only by a reddish landform that reminded me of a miniature Ayers Rock. A lake of perhaps two square kilometres in area could also be viewed although it was partially obscured by the volcano, itself.

After having waited for the Anglo-French member to also rest, we continued, in the same order as before, until we had reached the volcano’s rim. The highly active crater was perhaps two and a half kilometres in diameter and possessed two main active vents that would erupt alternately, having each formed their own mini-crater.

We hadn’t had to wait for long to witness what had been the cause of the sonic booms and the heating of the earth during our ascent. The eruptions of varying magnitudes, hurled large molten rocks from hundreds of feet below the volcano’s rim to hundreds of feet above our heads. There, they would almost hang suspended prior to beginning their deceptively slow decent to the inwardly sloping floor of the main crater. As the molten rocks did not all land simultaneously there was a period of clatter, as they landed upon cooled rocks from prior eruptions.

Each eruption would be accompanied by an expulsion of smoke and steam. The smoke appeared to be variously coloured and its thickness would also vary. The molten lava possessed a dull reddish colour that would bordered upon maroon. The smell of sulphur was particularly pungent and brought back memories from Rotorua, in New Zealand.

The eruptions proved difficult to photograph at their zenith and just as we had all but put away our cameras and were about to depart from the rim, the largest eruption of all occurred from the vent that was the closer to us. Its brownish smoke rose thousands of feet into the air and must have been visible from miles around.

The older of our two young guides, ‘Royal’, did not speak English fluently, but did convey that he was aged fifteen and that he had left school two years ago. He had passed the time by pushing solidified rocks on the rim of the volcano, thereby returning them to the main crater. He achieved this via the usage of his balsa pole. Meanwhile, the Englishman of circa forty years, while impressed with what he had seen, confessed that he was not one to take photographs.

After perhaps twenty minutes at the rim, we began our descent. As we were departing it came to our attention that, presumably prior visitors had piled stones in such a way as to form pyramidal shapes. This immediately reminded me of similar behaviour I had witnessed at The Olga’s ‘Valley Of The Wind’ in Central Australia, in 1972, when on a tour by bus that circumnavigated the country and lasted for nine weeks.

Our descent was comparatively easy when compared to our sudoriparous ascent. Each step was more of a slide in the fine volcanic sand. Being more like dust, it filled our shoes and even entered our hair. Upon reaching the bottom I quipped to the Anglo-French gentleman, “Now I know why they weighed us at the airport! To see how much of the volcano we are bringing back with us!” He laughed and told his brother, in French, what I had said and it brought a smile to his countenance.

The native driver was parked a couple of kilometres distant across the grey blackish dusty plain, where it bordered with the green tropical vegetation. Despite Royal’s whistles into a fairly strong wind, I felt it was more likely to have been the line of sight rather than such whistling that had resulted in our collection. He took us – with the two young guides, again. riding on the bonnet – across the plain in front of the volcano, to the quite large lake where its shoreline and the tropical vegetation met.

There he told us that we could refresh ourselves while he prepared lunch from the basket of food, brought from the shop on the other side of the island. Tiki and I waded about in the shallows. Her, with the lower half of her slacks rolled up while I did likewise to my jeans. She demonstrated how she had cleaned her hands by having collected the volcanic dust from the lake’s edge and using the resultant sludge as a substitute for soap.

Lunch was eaten while we were seated upon a bank of reasonably soft grassed earth. Our lemon cordial was served in hemispherical cups fashioned from the shells of cocoanuts and our plates possessed knives and forks wrapped in serviettes. We were each offered slices of pineapple, tomato, lettuce, two slices of salami and, in addition, slices of a meat which possessed a foreign, yet delicious, flavour. Tiki and I each ate two buttered buns.

Once lunch had been consumed, we were faced with the journey of approximately an hour that would return us to the western side of Tanna. Tiki sat in the middle of the front seat, this time, as our native driver had to resort to using the lever, that was situated between her legs, in order to change gears.

I was seated in the back, opposite the Englishman of some forty years. He spoke French fluently, as he is married to a French woman, who has lived in England for the past twenty years. He chose to talk to me as opposed to the non-English speaking Frenchman, seated next to him. Our vehicle swayed to and fro as it once again traversed the rough and rocky roads.

The gentleman conveyed to me of how he lectures on accountancy at a “polytechnic” school in the city of Oxford, where he lives. His occupation has allowed him to travel to such locations as Monrovia, Liberia and Sierra Leone, as well as Belize – once British Honduras – in Central America. He found the African natives to be extremely friendly, however, many faced life as beggars.

He seemed rather cynical when I asked him for his views on Australia and this led us into discussing our views of our respective prime ministers, Margaret Thatcher and Malcolm Fraser. He also expressed his concerns for the stability of my job, but, as I am not one to believe that a full-time job is essential in life, I did not share his outlook. He, too, leaves the New Hebrides for home, on Friday, after having been here for the past six weeks. His scheduled flights mean that he has to visit Brisbane, Sydney, Singapore and Bahrain, en route.

Our driver allowed us to alight at the most picturesque of beaches, which is situated but a mile from the island’s Burton Airfield. It was there that I used my last available film, with Tiki entrusted to take the photograph of me. A small island stood just ten metres off the beach and was in possession of four trees. Its black rocky soil stood high above the water.

After what must have been half an hour our driver returned and drove us to the store. There, the grey-to-whitish haired, moustached, debonaire, aristocratic, gentleman talked with Tiki and I after we had strolled through the store which was filled with native customers. He was obviously the head Caucasian on the island, having left life in suburban Chatswood, in Sydney, thirty-three years ago.

We mentioned the serenity of the Lane Cove River Park and suddenly he started to compare the beaches of Sydney. Stating that, in his eyes, Cronulla’s is nicer than the more internationally well known Manly. He was leaning against his aqua blue ‘Range Rover’, which had been imported from England five years ago. It still bore its English number plates.

The gentleman proudly stated that it must be one of the few vehicles to have been driven on both the Hebrides, in Scotland, and the New Hebrides. A statement, with which the Englishman in our group concurred.

While he smoked a cigar, the aristocratic Englishman returned us to the Burton Airfield, not in his aqua blue ‘Range Rover’, but rather the cream one to which we had grown accustomed. He informed us that he was in the process of “winding up” his operations here and that he and his wife were hoping to purchase land at Mount Tamborine, inland from Queensland’s Gold Coast.

He asked the two of us to compare the climbing of Yasur to that of Ayers Rock. Tiki stated that today’s effort had been the more enervating. Although we agreed that there were significant differences. Ayers Rock had presented a firm surface on which to climb and we had both undertaken its ascent in far cooler conditions.

‘New’ people, who had stayed on the island, began to arrive at the airfield, with their luggage and, as we had done this morning, had to have their respective weights recorded. The head man expressed the fact that our flight from Port Vila was slightly overdue and went on to explain that it would carry seventeen passengers and the pilot, of cause!

The law of aviation states that an aeroplane only requires a second pilot – as well as a stewardess – when it contains twenty seats or more. He went on to inform me what I really did not want to hear, namely that only this morning a new pilot had failed to remove a certain something from his plane’s wing prior to takeoff. Had not taken it upon himself to do the pilot’s job, himself, and removed it, the aeroplane would have given no indication of its air-speed!

What made the situation of even greater concern, he went on, was that those in air traffic controls, in Port Vila, had not made the young pilot aware of his error, either!

The larger aeroplane appeared at altitude and I was informed that the new French pilot must have been observing the airfield as well as determining the direction of the wind, prior to making his approach. The gentleman soon became less than impressed by the young pilot’s action as he equated it to an unnecessary wastage of fuel.

As we waited for the plane to descend, he informed me of how he had co-founded Air Melanesiae with Burton, after whom the airfield was named. However, his co-founder had perished along with seven of his passengers, in 1966, when it was suspected their aircraft became affected by aerial turbulence and crashed into the tall peak that lies adjacent to the volcano we had just climbed.

Just when I did not feel that I needed to hear more, he told me of another pilot who had crashed his plane, in 1974. He was allegedly pursuing wild horses at the northern end of the island when the tip of one of the wings contacted the ground. The aircraft cartwheeled numerous times before it became stationary and on its wheels. One of the six passengers, who was found without his seatbelt fastened, died and the pilot, is now, according to the gentleman, “just a vegetable”.

My conversant had, too, on one of the islands been in a crash, when the aeroplane in which he was a passenger overshot the runway on one of the islands. Although the plane suffered serious damage, no one was seriously injured. He went on to add that the three short airstrips on the island of Aoba remain far more dangerous than the one at which we were.

He used to be a pilot and added that most of the pilots are young Frenchmen who, in general, have arrived bearing impressive skills and knowledge, in their chosen field. Their goal is often to become international pilots with airlines such as U.T.A. I had to suppress a smile at that moment for someone had joked the other day that U.T.A. stood for ‘Unlikely To Arrive’.

I felt somewhat privileged that the gentleman had spent so much of his time in conversation with me. This was especially the case when he told me that he had met with Queen Elizabeth II not once, but on three separate occasions. It was then that he told me of the ‘land divers’ on the island of Pentecost, who individually dive from tall structures of wood or bamboo with a rope, made from vine, attached to one leg in order to break their descent. Their aim is to see just how close they can get to the ground without actually striking it.

Her Majesty was in attendance on the day one of the more experienced divers was unwell and a less experienced young man was recruited to replace him. Unfortunately, he plummeted to the ground in full view of onlookers, having broken his neck instantaneously.

He said that Her Majesty could not help but be shaken by what she had witnessed and it was not until later that the Queen was notified that the young man had, indeed, died. He confided in me that he had always found Her Majesty to be, as he put it, “a tremendous person”.

The aeroplane gradually made its descent and apart for an instant where the head gentleman expressed the belief that it might not be able to stop in time, there was no cause for concern. As the incoming passengers deplaned, he raced out to place a pole in an upright position, beneath its tail, in order to prevent the aircraft from toppling backwards. He informed me that this had been essential, as this larger aircraft possessed a third engine above its tail in order to accommodate the extra load it had to bear.

We enplaned, with Tiki and I seated in the third row behind the pilot. The Englishman of some forty years was seated behind Tiki and during the flight he was to tell me that the New Hebrides is to obtain its independence from being a condominium of France and the United Kingdom, on the first of January, however, he believes he that it is not prepared administratively for such a dynamic change.

Prior to takeoff, the pilot had turned around and, in perfect English, asked of me if my door was, indeed, closed entirely. Before I had had time to react the head gentleman used his hip to make sure that it was.

Our seats possessed little in the way of cushioning and our bottoms were well and truly numb when we landed on Efate, at 5.15 p.m. Our transportation was in waiting to convey the five of us ‘home’. The Englishman alighted at the Hotel Rossi, in the centre of Port Vila, between the main street and the harbour. The native driver’s cream ‘Land Rover’ bore only one registration sticker, which was two years out of date. When I remarked on this, he just smiled.

Despite Tiki having stated that she had only managed to achieve two hours of sleep last night, combined with the enervating undertakings of the day, thus far, she remained determined that we dine at the restaurant, ‘Ma Baker’s’, this evening, instead of partaking of lunch there tomorrow.

The taxi’s meter began at thirty francs and by the time we reached the main street, it showed seventy.. We ordered a litre of rose and when it became time to order our meal Tiki selected the ‘Fish Soup’ as her entree while I opted for ‘South Pacific Prawn Cocktail’. The main course, as selected by Tiki, consisted of ‘Garlic Steak’ for her and the ‘Pepper Steak’ for me.

We were really starting to guzzle the rose and it can’t have been long before we became light-headed. Dessert consisted of ‘Ma Barker’s Fruit Sundae’ for Tiki and the ‘Coconut Special’ for me. It was to arrive in a cocoanut shell. Two after-dinner mints came with our two cappuccinos, as did our bill for 1,925 F.N.H., the equivalent of approximately twenty-six dollars in our currency.

We experienced no problems in getting home as there were about twenty taxis parked at the rank opposite our restaurant. Tiki, the manageress of our finances, gave the driver eighty francs for the fare that amounted to seventy. It was half past eight – give or take ten minutes – upon our arrival and it can’t have been long before we were sound asleep in our separate double beds.

Saturday, 15th February, 1997

After breakfast, Tiki departed for the home of her parents, as her mother has been struggling to cope with a broken ankle. Upon her departure, I walked our dog to the corner store to purchase a copy of ‘The Daily Telegraph’. Saturday’s edition costs a dollar.

I watched the remainder of the A.B.C.’s countdown of the current Top Fifty musical videos. No Doubt’s ‘Don’t Speak’, featuring its vocalist, Gwen Stefani, sits at number one. Our national broadcaster follows this with another musical programme, ‘Recovery’, hosted by Dylan Lewis. Dylan not only possesses pierced ears, he has an earring through his left eyebrow. The show also includes a someone, or something, known as the ‘Enforcer’. Donned in a black outfit, Enforcer’s job is to not only exercise control over the programme’s guests, but Dylan, himself!

‘Recovery’ must have proven to be popular last year, as it has quite obviously returned for this one. It screens in opposition to Channel 10’s ‘Video Hits’.

There are four races this afternoon that possess prize money of one hundred thousand dollars or greater. Ian Craig is to broadcast the action via the radio station, 2KY, from Sydney, while his counterpart in Melbourne will be Bryan Martin. The racing surface in Sydney has been affected by rain, however, Melbourne’s meeting is forecast to be run on a surface described as being ‘good’.

Channel 9 is to also cover both meetings, with Ken Callander scheduled to update the odds of the runners prior to each event. The station will have John Russell describing each race from Flemington Racecourse, in Melbourne, and Johnny Tapp is scheduled to do likewise, from the Warwick Farm Racecourse, in Sydney.

‘Ten Eyewitness News’ screens on Channel 10 from five o’clock. It is read by Tracey Spicer, with Leith Mulligan delivering the segment on sport. ‘Bright Ideas – The Home Improvements Show’ follows at half past the hour. Its presenters are Renee Brack, Jane Blatchford and Mark Tonelli.

Gina Boon reads the ‘National Nine News’ from six o’clock. Its report on sport is read by the tall Peter Overton and includes a cursory review of the racing in Sydney, supplied by Johnny Tapp. It is followed, at half past the hour by the return of the perennial, ‘Hey, Hey It’s Saturday’, for another year. This entertaining offering is presented by Daryl Somers and Jo-Beth Taylor. Its guests include the Canadian singer, songwriter, Bryan Adams, who performs his hit, ‘Eighteen Till I Die’; a sumo wrestler, who sits next to Red Symons during the segment, ‘Red Faces’; the British group, Boyzone , as well as a new group, according to Daryl, that includes the son of the former ‘Monkee’, Mike Nesmith, as well as the son of Donovan (Leitch). The group, called Nancy Boy, closes the show by performing ‘Deep Sleep Motel’.

I followed this by switching to the A.B.C.’s Channel 2 in order to watch the latest episode in the British series, ‘Heartbeat’. Set in rural Yorkshire in the 1960s, it boasts an impressive musical soundtrack. This offering bares the copyright of last year. The series began in 1992 and, quite obviously, remains popular.

Peter O’Malley leads the field in the Australian Masters, which is being played at the Huntingdale Golf Club, in Melboune. After today’s third round he leads by one stroke from a fellow Australian, Lucas Parsons, with an aggregate score of fifteen under par. The American, Tiger Woods, lies six strokes astern of O’Malley.

Yesterday, the Australian icon, Arnott’s, which is known predominantly for its production of biscuits, bowed to the pressure from an extortionist(s) and removed all of its products from the shelves in both New South Wales and Queensland. This action was in response to several prominent people, amongst whom were politicians, being sent packets of the biscuit, Monte Carlo, whose contents had been laced with a lethal pesticide. Consequently, investors devalued the company’s shares by thirty-five million dollars, which was tantamount to twenty-five cents per share.

The National Australia Bank, yesterday, matched the unexpected move by the larger Commonwealth Bank, when it reduced its standard variable loan on a home from 8.25% to 7.55%. This means that such loans have not been at this level since the late 1960s.

Superstar, Michael Jackson, 38, wants to settle in either Britain or Australia, according to his biographer of twenty-five years, J. Randy Taraborelli. Jackson became a father yesterday when his wife, Debbie Rowe, 37, gave birth at the Cedars Sinai Medical Center, in Los Angeles. Their son weighed three kilogrammes, After the birth, Jackson commented that he did not want the baby to grow up as he had, which he likened to living in a “fish bowl”.

Last Monday, Oasis’s Liam Gallagher cancelled his proposed marriage to girlfriend, Patsy Kensit, due to the intense scrutiny from the media. Within days, his brother, Noel, called off his wedding to Meg Matthews, that had been scheduled for Valentine’s Day, having cited this same reason.

Arnott’s Managing Director, Chris Roberts, has found it appropriate to take out full-page advertisements in newspapers, stating that the company is the “innocent victim” in this extortionist plan to have a prisoner freed from gaol. It is being claimed that the governments of Queensland and New South Wales allegedly collaborated to imprison an innocent man. The threat was first made on the third of this month and states that contaminated biscuits would be placed on shelves after the seventeenth. Mr Roberts has, therefore, stated, “Our aim is to complete the clearance of shelves by Monday, Feb., 17.”

Arnott’s Limited, a company of one hundred and thirty years, revealed other woes yesterday when it announced that its interim net profit had fallen by seventy-eight per cent since its last report. Its earnings, after tax, amounted to $8.5 million, down from $38.7 million, recorded in the first half of the 1995/’96 financial year. Yesterday, its shares closed at $8.50. The American giant, Campbell Soup Co., owns seventy-five per cent of Arnott’s.

Meanwhile, shares in blue chip companies broke through the barrier of 7,000 points on the New York Stock Exchange. This has reportedly removed those fears, held by some, that the market had been advancing too rapidly. The Dow Jones Industrial Average closed higher by 60.8 points and sits on 7,022.44. However, the Federal Reserve, in the United States, has expressed its concerns that equities there are becoming overvalued.

Locally, the All Ordinaries closed the week lower by 13.8 points, having closed on 2,482.6 points. Earlier, it had reached another record of 2,506.5. C.R.A. fell by $0.31 to close on $18.78; B.H.P. by $0.066 to $17.95; News Corp by $0.05 to $6.66; C.B.A. by $0.03 to $13.90; Westpac by $0.18 to $7.65 and A.N.Z. by $0.07 to $8.31.

The Canterbury Guineas was conducted at the Flemington Racecourse this afternoon. The race is reserved for horses of three years and was won by the 10/9 favourite, ‘Mouawad’, trained by the Sydneysider, Clarry Connors and ridden by Grant Cooksley, who hails from New Zealand. It is the colt’s fifth win from its six races and adds $227,500 (and trophies to the value of $2,000) to the earnings of its connections. It comfortably warded off the challenge from the hitherto unbeaten ‘O’Reilly’, (13/4) — a ‘raider’ from New Zealand trained by D.J. O’Sullivan and ridden by Lance O’Sullivan — by two lengths. ‘Tarnpir Lane'(11/1) finished a neck away in third position. It is trained by C. (“Cliff”) I. Brown and was ridden by another ‘Enzedder’, Greg Childs.

The much lauded Kiwi pacer, ‘Iraklis’, is an easing favourite for tomorrow night’s A.G. Hunter Cup. The race, which is rated at the level of Group 1, is scheduled to be run tomorrow night at the circuit, Moonee Valley, in Melbourne. ‘Iraklis’ will start from a handicap of twenty metres, ten metres in front of the lone back marker, ‘Desperate Comment’. The trainer of another runner, ‘Suleiman’, John Green, has been quoted as stating that ‘Iraklis’ will struggle to “run a place”. ‘Iraklis’ started as a 1/4 favourite, in winning the Victoria Cup recently.

Yesterday, Kieth Williams, a developer of resorts, claimed a victory when the Federal Court granted him permission to commence dredging near to the environmentally sensitive Hinchinbrook Island, which is situated near to the Great Barrier Reef. Mr Williams’ company, Cardwell Properties, had fought legal battles over a period of four years against ‘The Friends Of Hinchinbrook Society’, a group whom he had described as conservational ‘”fanatics”. The approval is for the construction of a resort on forty-four hectares of land, at Oyster Point, on the mainland and opposite the island. It will house one thousand five hundred beds and be the site of a marina that will possess berths for two hundred and thirty-four craft. Hinchinbrook Island is one of the country’s best habitats for marine life, that includes dugong and sea turtles and, therefore, Mr Williams expects there to be another challenge mounted against yesterday’s decision.

Antonio Castro Trujillo has been sentenced, by a court in the Canary Islands, to spend forty thousand years in gaol after he was found to be guilty of having raped his three daughters, two thousand, four hundred and ninety-six times. The court heard that he had begun to sexually abuse them in 1979, when the eldest was twelve and the youngest, nine. In addition, he has to pay each of his victims the equivalent of fifty thousand dollars.

Astronauts, Mark Lee and Steve Smith, have completed the first of four scheduled spacewalks, during which they undertake tasks that have been designed to improve the quality of the pictures that are being received on Earth via the Hubble Space Telescope. The pair had left the shuttle, Discovery, as it was above Australia, at a distance of five hundred and eighty kilometres. It is anticipated that the instalment of the latest infra-red camera will allow astronomers to peer deeper into the universe.

One of the world’s most renowned acrobats, Walfer Guerrero, is expected to suffer from paralysis after he fell some eight metres as he was performing in Richmond, Virginia. The twenty-eight year old’s act was reportedly a part of the Ringling Bros. Barnum and Bailey Circus. Walfer was admitted to hospital in a critical condition.

The daughter of America’s President, Bill Clinton, Chelsea Clinton, has been offered a position at the country’s oldest and most famous university, Harvard. Should the seventeen-year-old accept the offer she would become the first child of the White House to advance from high school to university, during a president’s term, in more than seventy years.

Actress, Elizabeth Taylor, at the age of sixty-five, has told the interviewer, Barbara Walters, on American television’s ABC, that after having been married eight times, she has found her limit. Richard Burton, whom she married and subsequently divorced, twice, along with Mike Todd, who was killed in the crash of an aeroplane during their betrothal, were the two notable loves of her life. The actress has said that she plans to concentrate on being the godmother to the newborn son of her friend, Michael Jackson.

Tuesday, 28th August, 1979: Lord Mountbatten Has Been Assassinated!

We awoke and noted that the rain of yesterday had ceased, however, the sky remained overcast. After breakfast we began to prune those branches from the yard of a neighbour, that have been overhanging the roof of our house and its guttering.

Nevertheless, we curtailed our efforts when it began to rain, again, at twenty past ten.

At a quarter to eleven, we departed to shop at Miranda Fair. After I had parked the car on the centre’s roof, we purchased another litre of Wattyl’s ‘Red Cedar’, in Myer. Next, we visited Nock & Kirby to buy a small paintbrush, followed by a litre of ‘Castle’ mineral turps from Woolworths.

There seemed to be a plethora of unruly children in the crowded shopping centre. Disco music, blared from a loudspeaker above the centre’s main stage as young women, in tight jeans and equally tight singlets, gyrated to it.

As we hadn’t had either the radio or the television on at breakfast, it came as quite a shock to read on the front page of ‘The Sun’ that a cousin of Queen Elizabeth II, Earl, Lord Louis Mountbatten, had fallen victim to the Irish Republican Army at the age of seventy-nine.

A bomb, that reportedly weighed some twenty-five kilogrammes, was apparently planted aboard the small boat that not only contained Lord Mountbatten, but his grandson of just fourteen years. Situated off the Irish coast, the extremely powerful blast is believed to have been triggered via a device that would respond to a signal from a remote control.

Fifteen British soldiers were also killed, yesterday, in a separate incident, when a huge landmine exploded near to Ulster’s border with Eire.

We ate lunch in front of Channel 9’s ‘The Mike Walsh Show’, with its principal guest ironically being the British actor, Reg Varney. The last half an hour of the programme featured a tribute to Lord Mountbatten. Once this had concluded a representative of ‘Freedom For Ulster’, or some such cause, inflammatorily stated that the Lord’s death was no reason for people to become emotional.

I remember having watched a documentary on Lord Mountbatten’s life, that was screened some years ago, over a period of several weeks, and included his term as Britain’s Viceroy to India. Speaking purely for myself, and not professing to know the background as to what has perpetuated the violence between Britain and Ireland and/or why it was deemed necessary that he should be killed, I formed the opinion that he was an impressive figure.

I spent much of this afternoon painting the ceiling in our bathroom a somewhat lighter shade of ‘Tusk Ivory’, for the paint had been in our garage for the past two years. When I experienced difficulty in reaching the area above the hand basin, as well as the bath, itself, I called out to Tiki to come and hold the ladder for me. She’d been watching an edition of the American series, ‘F.B.I.’ on Channel TEN — it was previously shown on the A.B.C.’s Channel 2– and features the actor, Efrem Zimbalist Jr., who rose to fame about a decade ago in another series, ’77 Sunset Strip’.

I made the mistake of giving Tiki both the roller and the brush to wash in mineral turps, only to then find her completing this process by resorting to the usage of water.

We watched ‘Here’s Lucy’ between five o’clock and half past the hour, prior to then passing the next thirty minutes by viewing an edition of ‘Family Feud’ which is compered by the short, in stature, Tony Barber, whom we find to be an irritation, at best! Channel TEN’s news was viewed between six and seven o’clock and was co-read by Katrina Lee and John Bailey.

Channel 7’s ‘Willesee At Seven’ also focuses upon the assassination of Lord Mountbatten and features excepts from the British series, ‘This Is Your Life’, which contains tributes to him from such stars as Jackie Coogan, Bob Hope and Danny Kaye.

At half past seven we turned to Channel 2 to watch two British comedies, ‘It Ain’t Half Hot, Mum’ and ‘Bless This House’. The latter features the late actor, Sid James, whom, I believe was born in South Africa, but don’t quote me.

Remaining on the A.B.C., we watched the penultimate instalment of the Australian serial, ’20 Good Years’. It is set in 1974, on this occasion and its cast includes Harold Hopkins and Anne Pendlebury.

I retired to bed at a quarter to ten, while Tiki chose to watch an offering from Channel TEN’s American series, ‘Dallas’, whose cast includes Larry ‘I Dream Of Jeannie’ Hagman and Jim ‘Rescue 8’ Davis.

However, I was to unintentionally remain awake until Tiki joined me, at half past ten.

The ‘Comic Medico’: Friday, 13th May, 1977

Dr. James Wright, who has been dubbed the ‘Comic Medico’, hosts “The Mike Walsh Show” from noon. N.S.W. T.A.B. agencies opened their doors at 2.15 p.m. At three o’clock, “Mannix” sets out to find his friend’s daughter, who has been kidnapped from Albuquerque, New Mexico.

At a small greengrocery a bloke (and it wasn’t me!) spilled his money in amongst the beans and lost five cents. Then I mistook the grapes as being priced at forty-five cents per kilogramme and, therefore, ordered a “kilo” of them, only to be asked for one dollar and twenty-three cents: for the grapes, plus three bananas. Because I had insufficient money with me, the lady poured the grapes out and gave me half a kilogramme of them. I was then asked for eighty-eight cents, however, I had done my maths and she returned my ten cents.

“Last Of The Wild”, on Channel Two, is centred upon the jaguar of the Amazonian jungle. On “Willesee”, Mike Willesee appears to be decidedly cynical of the Government of Prime Minister, Malcolm Fraser, and its efforts to stop the strike by air traffic controllers, which is due to end at midnight tonight. We are disappointed that Cliff Richard’s concert, which was to be held tonight, has had to be postponed until next Tuesday, at 6.30 p.m., when he is to perform twice in the one evening. At present he is stranded in Auckland because of the strike at Sydney Airport.

The motion picture comedy, “How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying”, from 1967, is being shown on television from half past eight. The film is based on the book by Shepherd Mead, which was firstly published in 1952, and stars Robert Morse, Rudy Vallee — a principal recording artist in the years of the Great Depression — and Michele Lee.

Fortieth Anniversary: Monday, 3rd September, 1979

It was 8.37a.m. before I awoke to venture outside to our toilet. Our pup, ‘Daisy’, who is just eight weeks of age, hovered about my feet and ankles. She’s extremely active, as, I suppose, most pups are!

Having left Tiki in bed, I walked to Miranda Fair to purchase some polish, in order to shine our car. Despite me having attended both Woolworths and Nock and Kirby’s, I failed in my mission to purchase the one-year polish that I’d seen being advertised so freely on television. Instead, I returned home having purchased a bottle of ‘Turtle Wax’, at a cost of three dollars and sixteen cents.

After breakfast I emerged, again, this time to polish our Chrysler ‘Sigma’ that was parked in our driveway. As the weather was overcast, I was pleased,, for I had heard that such conditions were perfect when polishing a vehicle outdoors. I attempted to remove as many specks of bitumen from the car’s duco as I proceeded.

At noon, I adjourned to watch Channel Nine’s ‘The Mike Walsh Show’ which, in Mike’s absence was hosted by the slim Brian Bury. The singer and actor, Howard Keel, who is sixty years of age, was a guest as were ‘Shirley’ Williams, Jeannie Little and Joe Martin, along with footage of their weekend at the Walgett Rodeo in the north-west of New South Wales.

Tiki’s boss rang to verify that she was, indeed, returning to work, this afternoon, after her holiday of four weeks. She told Robyn of how much we had enjoyed our eleven days in the New Hebrides.

The American serial, ‘Days Of Our Lives’, followed ‘The Mike Walsh Show’ from half past one. Its cast includes Macdonald Carey and Susan Seaforth.

Having driven Tiki to work by a quarter past two, I stopped in Gymea to buy a copy of ‘The Sun’ for ten cents.

It was twenty past three before I returned to our driveway to continue to polish our year-old Sigma. However, when it began to rain I was left with no alternative but to return it to the garage, where I continued to polish the vehicle although, I have to admit, my desire to do so wasn’t there.

This was compounded when, as I was attempting to remove bitumen bespattered on the mudguard, behind the near wheel on the passenger’s side, my hand slipped and the base of my right thumb’s nail painfully struck the bottom edge of the mudguard, drawing blood in the process.

I ceased to polish at eight minutes to five and set out to walk to Miranda and back, this time in the name of exercise.

The news on Channel TEN was co-read by John Bailey and Katrina Lee, and at a quarter to seven I left to collect Tiki from her place of work prior to us watching ‘Willesee At Seven’ on Channel Seven. Mike Willesee recalled the Second World War because today marks forty years since Great Britain declared war on Germany.

Gene Pitney is a guest on the programme and during his interview a clip of him performing his single, ‘Blue Angel’, a hit in 1974, is played.

We viewed “John Laws’ World”. Tonight it centres upon Alaska. Thence, from half past eight, another episode in the Australian series, ‘Cop Shop’, on Channel 7.

I took this opportunity to adjourn to the kitchen and listen to the radio, in particular races from the greyhounds. Some Australians prefer to label these racing dogs as “dish-lickers”.

Tiki occupied herself by using a pack of cards to play games of ‘Patience’ on our carpeted floor in the loungeroom, as I returned to read articles printed in today’s copy of ‘The Sun’.

At half past nine we turned the dial to Channel Nine and ‘The Don Lane Show’. “The Lanky Yank”, as Don is affectionately known here, has amongst his guests tonight the forty-five year old Jerry Lee Lewis.

Jerry performed ‘Great Balls Of Fire’ and “Whole Lot Of Shakin’ Going On”, his initial hits in 1957, and while his playing of the piano sounded like that in those recordings his voice, unfortunately, did not.

Jerry barely gave more than one-word answers, in reply to Don’s questions and after Gene Pitney had performed one of his hits from 1962, namely, ‘(The Man Who Shot) Liberty Valance’, he outspokenly said that he knew that Jerry Lee had the ability to perform better than he had done tonight.

As the show is televised live from Melbourne, its resident comical personality, Bert Newton, kept taking the liberty of impersonating Jerry Lee on numerous occasions during the programme.

We retired to bed at five past eleven.

Wednesday, 26th September, 1979

Paul McCartney has been named as the most successful composer of all time. Forty-three of his songs have each sold more than a million copies. He has had his name associated with sixty golden discs: those that have each sold a million copies. Paul has also been identified as the world’s most successful recording artist, having been a vocalist on an estimated one hundred million albums, as well as a further one hundred million singles.

This evening, I listened to the radio station, 2GB, and the programme, ‘1967 Gold’. Its presenter, Sam Galea, played hits from that year. These included ‘The Reflections Of Charles Brown’ by Rupert’s People, The Bee Gees’ ‘To Love Somebody’ and Jackie Wilson’s ‘Higher And Higher’. Sam said that Jackie had suffered a stroke some five years ago and that this had resulted in him now being a semi-invalid.

At half past seven, we watched another edition of the British comedy, ‘Mind Your Language’, on Channel 7. Actor, Barry Evans, is cast as a teacher whose job it is to teach English to a mixture of migrants from various countries.

This comedy was followed by another, at eight, in the form of the British offering, ‘The Dick Emery Show’.

The film, ‘Nevada Smith’, a western from the year of 1966, followed. Its cast includes Steve McQueen, Karl Malden, Suzanne Pleshette, Arthur Kennedy, Martin Landau and Brian Keith.

Martin Landau appeared alongside his wife, Barbara Bain, in the cast of the televised series, ‘Mission: Impossible’, which was in production from 1966 until 1973.

I opted for bed at half past ten, having left Tiki to see it to its conclusion at 11.15.

‘Manikato’ Unplaced: Thursday, 27th September, 1979

I drove home from work by 4.00 p.m., having recorded the results of the trifectas on both the Underwood Stakes and the Marlboro Cup that were run at the racecourse in Caulfield, a suburb of Melbourne, this afternoon.

‘Valley Of Georgia’ had won the former race, having started at the odds of 9/1 whereas a rank outsider, ‘Private Walk’ (66/1), had won the latter while the 13/8 favourite, ‘Manikato’, had failed to finish in the first three placings.

Having entered our backyard, I threw the ball for our Alsatian, whom I like to call “Zedbeat”, to retrieve. All of the while she was being pursued by our young pup, ‘Daisy’, who insisted upon grabbing at her neck and tail. It marked the first time that I had really been angry at her. I also brushed and combed the adult dog’s coat that she had carried throughout winter. This she really enjoyed!

Tiki arrived home, shortly prior to six o’clock. Her mother had taken her into the city in her sedan, a ‘Rover’. The pair had enjoyed a smorgasbord for lunch at the Australia Tavern in the M.L.C. building. They had then adjourned to see the film, The Prophecy, at the Paramount, in George Street.

Channel TEN’s ‘Eyewitness News’ began at six o’clock and, at half past the hour, I chose to listen to the radio and 2GB’s Sam Galea’s programme, ‘1956 Gold’. It featured such recordings as “Tennessee” Ernie Ford’s ‘The Ballad Of Davey Crockett’. Sam said that “Tennesee” died in 1974.

Tiki and I discussed the bleak state of our finances, at the table in our kitchen. We estimated our foreseen expenditure for the next six months. She even talked of selling the drop earrings that I had bought for her to commemorate her twenty-first birthday. However, I am hopeful that such a scenario will not be the case.

As if such a prospect was not deflating enough, we decided to watch Channel TEN’s English film, ‘The Offence’, that was produced in 1973. It has Sean Connery cast as a sergeant in the police force. He takes it upon himself to bash a suspect, whom he believes to be a child molester, to death. Trevor Howard also has a major role.

I retired to bed at ten o’clock. Tiki decided to turn off the television, prior to the film’s conclusion, and follow me to bed.

The trifecta on the Marlboro Cup, as paid out by the Victorian T.A.B., set an Australian record. The single holder of the ticket is eligible to receive $113,000, should he or she not have already claimed it!

“Smellus Fartus” Saturday, 29th September, 1979

We awoke to a dull, overcast and windy day. At 9.00a.m., I learned of the scratchings from 2KY’s programme, ‘Turf Time’, that is co-presented by Max Presnell and Ian Craig.

Tiki drove to Rockdale, with us having departed from home at ten o’clock. Having parked in George Street, beyond the suburb’s town hall, we bought the tickets at the railway station. Their purchase would allow us to be conveyed to Sydney’s inner line, which is known as the City Circle.

Alighting at Wynyard, we employed the use of our umbrellas until we had reached the G.P.O., in Martin Place. We entered the cafe, ‘Courtyard’, which is located on the ground floor of the building that is owned by the company, ‘M.L.C.’ We ordered two hot chocolates, at a cost of seventy cents each. Upon our emergence, to our surprise, the sky had cleared!

We walked down and into the new railway station, Martin Place, for the first time. It impressed us, with its maroon walls and light blue seats really complementing each other!

Upon our return to the level of the street, we walked down Phillip and past the Wentworth Hotel to arrive at the Opera House. Continuing on we passed Circular Quay, as we headed for the Argyle Tavern and at approximately one o’clock we entered to partake of its smorgasbord at a cost to each of us of four dollars and forty-five cents.

Tiki’s initial serving consisted of her choice of lamb, fish and curry with potato. I was so impressed by her selection and, therefore, asked the chef for a repetition. The chap who followed us in the queue exclaimed, “That looks good! I’ll have the same!”

We located secluded seats that were affixed to the floor upstairs, in the restaurant’s rear section and having devoured our meal we returned for our respective second helpings, having shown our receipt to be entitled to them. This time we opted for cold meat, salad and a bread roll.

Tiki paid fifty cents each for a bread and butter plate filled with a square slice of a cherry dessert that was smothered in custard and fruit salad, and fifty cents each for a cup of coffee with cream.

Pressing on, we entered the Botanical Gardens near to the Conservatorium Of Music prior to entering the tropical glass pyramid. However, within ten minutes we beat a hasty retreat when Tiki omitted a real stinker.

I had Tiki in stitches, as I chose to remain in the same vein as that of the botanical names on display inside the pyramid thereby referring to her ‘effort ‘ as “Smellus Fartus”.

We followed the path through the palms and onward to the new, impressive ‘Cacti’ section which is still under construction and not yet open to the public although we did take the time to wander through it.

Although the sunshine was pleasant, the wind blew strongly and the waters of Farm Cove appeared to be terribly choppy. Nearing Lady Macquarie’s Chair, via the footpath along the foreshore, we had to retrace our steps, firstly into the strong wind that carried sand, grit and leaves. Having rounded the point, we were then on the lee side and facing Garden Island. It was there that we became excited at the sight of an eight-to-ten week old Alsatian pup with its ears already erect.

Our attention was soon attracted to the crowds of people on the flight deck of the aircraft carrier, ‘H.M.A.S. Melbourne’, moored at Garden Island as a naval helicopter of an old appearance warmed up on the southern end of its deck. We sat on a rock and waited for some five minutes before it took flight. It travelled straight over our heads prior to it disgorging frogmen from a height of about ten metres, at intervals, into the harbour. The pilot waved to the crowd that stood on the peninsula of rock above us and we laughed at the member of its crew who sat at the doorway as he dangled his feet over its edge and, as if to music, clapped his feet together.

We witnessed the pilot ultra-cautiously return his machine to the carrier’s deck prior to us setting out to walk past the swimming pool – named in honour of Andrew ‘Boy’ Charlton – which, quite understandably, housed few swimmers and sunbathers.

A tall, lean and gangly gent of perhaps twenty-five or thirty years roller-bladed past us, as we made our way to the Mitchell Library. His knees were well padded with protective guards. However, it was his stature that amused us more as we envisaged him to be more like a two-legged giraffe. Perhaps, all of the walking was starting to take a toll on our minds?

We reached Saint Mary’s Cathedral prior to us crossing Collins Street and entering Hyde Park. There, the Archibald Fountain was flowing in all of its glory, glistening on a day when the temperature reached twenty-four degrees Celsius, which is four degrees above the seasonal average.

We were looking for a place from which to purchase a cold orange juice each when Tiki suddenly espied her parents, of all people, as they were in the process of walking away from the fountain. We sneaked up behind them and I exclaimed, in my sternest voice, “All right! You’re both under arrest for loitering in the park!”

I had “Mum” believe, just for a moment, that a policeman was, in fact, addressing them.

They were as surprised to see us, as we them!

The four of us adjourned to a cafe in Centrepoint, which we found to be hot and somewhat claustrophobic. Tiki and I opted to have an orange juice each while an iced coffee sufficed ‘Mum’ and ‘Dad’. It was his shout.

The pair had lunched at the relatively new ‘Jasmine Court’, a Chinese restaurant in Blakehurst and were en route to the State Theatre in Market Street where they were to view James Brolin and Margot Kidder in the screening of ‘The Amityville Horror’.

We entered on to Pitt Street and ventured into the old Strand Arcade that had been restored so beautifully, a few years ago, after the fire that gutted it had almost resulted in such a restoration being abandoned.

The four of us entered George Street and walked to its intersection with Market Street, where we parted, but not before ‘Dad’ and I had discussed the recently begun restoration of the building that is the Queen Victoria. It possesses ten copper domes on either side of its roof, as well as a huge one in the middle.

Tiki and I boarded the train at twenty-five to five that was to return us from Town Hall to Rockdale. Tiki’s feet were so sore, that this prompted her to sit on a seat located beside the Princes Highway, while I walked up to George Street to retrieve our car. It was twenty past five when I collected her. The races were replayed on the radio as we travelled home.

The jockey, Malcolm ‘Miracle Mal’ Johnston, had not only ridden ‘Kingston Town’ (7/4), the winner of the $100,500 Spring Champion Stakes, but also ‘Imposing’ (11/2), which was also first past the post in the $100,500 Epsom Handicap. Each victory earned Malcolm the sum of $6,800 ( 10% of the first prize).

The news on Channel 7, at six o’clock, was followed, at half past the hour, by Channel 9’s ‘Ask The Leyland Brothers’. The programme includes the coverage of a ride on Telecom’s sky lift. The journey, of some twenty minutes, covers a distance of five and a half kilometres and the structure, itself, is located on Queensland’s second-tallest mountain, Bellenden Kerr. Unfortunately, it is not open to the general public!

We observed a programme of Channel 7’s forensic medical series, ‘Quincy MD’, with Jack Klugman cast in its principal role. During its viewing we imbibed in a bottle of ‘Mateus’ rose, which had cost us three dollars and twenty-nine cents.

Unsurprisingly, Tiki fell sound asleep on the lounge!

Sylvania Waters: Thursday, 1st December, 1977

Tiki’s left arm and shoulder were no longer causing her discomfort and allowed her to sleep quite well last night. However, this situation had changed by the time I arrived at her place of work this afternoon and she asked for permission to leave early.

I drove her to the building which bears the name of ‘Wyoming’, in order that she could collect her X-rays. She cheekily opened the large envelope, in spite of the fact that it was addressed to her doctor, and read the report which states that the series of X-rays had not detected anything out of the ordinary.

Following an early tea we left for the doctor’s surgery only to discover that it is closed on Thursday afternoons. We walked for four miles around Barcoo Island, Captain Cook Island and the length of Belgrave Esplanade to the entrance to Murray Island, in the humid overcast conditions. Some of the houses at Sylvania Waters are impressive, but they are more often than not jammed together. There isn’t any room on the nature strips to walk as they are devoid of footpaths and possess a mixture of wiry and bushy plants. Additionally, the murky man-made canals emitted an odour that wasn’t pleasant.

It was seven o’clock by the time we returned to the ‘Galant’ and used its odometer to measure the distance of our walk. Upon our return home I wrote my diary at the dining table in the kitchen as Tiki watched “Space 1999”. The musical theme, which normally opens each edition of the series, has changed. At the conclusion of the second episode of “Cop Shop”, the humidity remained at an extremely oppressive level.