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THE MIRAGE
‘Water! Oh for a cool drink of water,’ Mary wished aloud, her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth. The water in her litre bottle seemed to say, ‘drink me’. Mary realised that it was all they had in the car. She began to worry about what would happen if they broke down. “We’ll be in Birdsville soon and you can have a cold beer,” Tom glanced at her, patted her on the knee. “Is this all the water you brought? I thought you were going to put in a five-litre container.” “Nah. I decided it would take too much room and only add extra weight to our luggage.’ “What if we broke down out here? We’d be stuck for days before anyone found us. We’d be dead.” Panic threaded Mary’s voice. Travelling the Birdsville Track was no place to take chances where life could be on the line. Mary had lived in the bush all her life and was wise in the ways of survival.Tom was a ‘Townie’ and very conscious that he didn’t always measure up to the men in the bush. He wanted to impress Mary so she wouldn’t leave him. She couldn’t make him understand that she loved him just as he was. They lived in Birdsville. She was a waitress in the hotel and Tom ran the local store. They were returning from a short stay in ‘the big smoke’. Mary looked out of the car window at the passing terrain of rolling treeless plains of stunted saltbush. A hot wind dried the perspiration on her forehead. If only Tom wasn’t so defensive and stubborn. She just couldn’t seem to get through to him not to take chances in the bush. He seemed to think he knew all about the bush, but better people had fallen prey to the harsh environment. “Gee! I’m thirsty. I could drink a flagon of water.” Tom said and grabbed the bottle from between their seats upending it. “Well, don’t drink it all, save some,” Mary snapped, cross at her husband for trying to prove he was a bushman and tried to prise the bottle from his lips. “This is all we have, Tom.” “Don’t panic, we’ll soon be home. Boy, was that good! Nothing like a drink of water on a hot day.” Tom laughed. “Well, I hope you’re right, Tom, and we don’t need it.” Mary was hurt at Tom’s selfishness. Of late she had become aware that he thought largely of what he wanted. The kilometres sped by until they reached the sand dune country. Mary suffered her thirst in silence. Tom sang along to the music on the car radio. The Subaru shuddered up the loose face of a high sand dune and stalled. The back wheels were down to the differential. Tom got out and studied their predicament. “We’ll have to try and dig the car out.” “What with?” Mary was angry. “You didn’t put a spade in did you? No, it was too heavy or something I suppose.” “Come on, Get digging, Mary. I’ll pull up some bushes and see if we can’t get some traction.” Tom urged and he walked off to the side of the road in search of vegetation. Mary looked at him in frustration. “Where’s the water, Mary. Did you drink it all?” Tom snarled. He was hot and uncomfortable. He hated the bloody bush. He planned not to live out here another minute. Blast Mary. She could live in the bush if she wanted but he was getting out. “No! I didn’t drink the water, you did. Remember? You wanted to drink a flagon.” Tom looked sheepish at her words. He looked around for a dam or windmill. He spied in the distance a great lake of water, shimmering and sparkling. Picking up the bottle he took off at a fast walk. “I’ll be back with the water, Mary. Try to dig out the car while I’m gone.” “Tom,” Mary yelled, frantic at his ignorance. “It’s a mirage. There is no water there.” “Don’t be silly, Mary. Anyone can see there’s water over there. Lot’s of it.” Tom just kept on going into the westering sun. Mary dug the dirt away from the back wheels and laid down the bushes that she had collected. She was able to drive the car out onto the flat road. Tom had not returned. The sun had just set. She called, “Tom, Tom.” She blew the horn to give him direction. But Tom failed to appear. Mary fretted. Should she continue into Birdsville and get help? What if Tom returned and she wasn’t here. He’s just as likely to take off again and get lost. As night fell, Mary made the decision to go to Birdsville and raise the alarm. But Tom was never found. It was years later, Mary was walking along the main street in Birdsville when she was startled to catch a glimpse of a man ahead of her. “Tom, she called, “Tom.” But the man disappeared into a nearby café. She followed the man but he had disappeared as though a ghost. Through a crack between a fixture, Tom watched Mary searching for him. Whew, he thought, that was a close call. I should never have come back. But I needed to pick up the stash that I buried when we got stuck. Now I can really begin to live the rest of my life without Mary making me feel a little boy around the place. Always pointing out how the men in the bush are better than city blokes. |
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BY FIRE
There is an old saying, ‘home is where you hang your hat.’ Well, I’ve hung my hat in some very funny places. One time, Bruce and I, Diane and Robyn hung our hats in a ‘pickers quarters.’ Philip was added to the family while we lived here. Pickers quarters were often not much more than glorified sheds.
We had three small rooms tacked on the end of a shed. Bruce added a tiny lounge room and bathroom separated from the main rooms.
The owner of this complex was affectionately known as ‘ole’ Syd. He was a small man with a large heart and a brad and colourful language..
He installed a dehydrator in the shed to assist in the process of drying grapes. Separating our living quarters from this roaring monster was just a thin partition. When drying grapes this roaring machine was a constant background to our lives. We adapted remarkably well to its presence.
One night we arrived home late from being out at a church meeting. The weather threatened thunderstorms and was very humid. After settling the children in the very end room which was like a box, Bruce and I sat over a quiet ‘cuppa’ to let the children go to sleep.
The storm raged with growing ferocity, the power was cut and the lights went out, the dehydrator was silenced. When the power was restored, Bruce pricked up his ears, ‘Does that dehydrator sound different to you?’
‘It’ll pick up in a minute,’ I muttered from the depth of my book.
A short time later Bruce suggest ed that we go to bed, adding ‘I wonder if I should check on the dehydrator?’
On entering the shed, Bruce found burning oil slowly moving across the floor towards the children bedroom. ‘Ole’ Syd was called, the dehydrator was shut down and the fire put out. ‘Ole’ Syd was also very upset and the dehydrator was not started again until safety mechanisms were installed that such an incident could never happen again.
We were rather shaken as we realised how close we had come to being burnt alive in our beds. We praised the Lord for saving us. We nearly lost not only our hats but the peg to hang them on in this case.
The words of the Psalmist express beautifully where security lies:
‘If you make the Most High your dwelling -
even the Lord who is my refuge –
then no harm will befall you,
no disaster will come near your tent.’
There is an old saying, ‘home is where you hang your hat.’ Well, I’ve hung my hat in some very funny places. One time, Bruce and I, Diane and Robyn hung our hats in a ‘pickers quarters.’ Philip was added to the family while we lived here. Pickers quarters were often not much more than glorified sheds.
We had three small rooms tacked on the end of a shed. Bruce added a tiny lounge room and bathroom separated from the main rooms.
The owner of this complex was affectionately known as ‘ole’ Syd. He was a small man with a large heart and a brad and colourful language..
He installed a dehydrator in the shed to assist in the process of drying grapes. Separating our living quarters from this roaring monster was just a thin partition. When drying grapes this roaring machine was a constant background to our lives. We adapted remarkably well to its presence.
One night we arrived home late from being out at a church meeting. The weather threatened thunderstorms and was very humid. After settling the children in the very end room which was like a box, Bruce and I sat over a quiet ‘cuppa’ to let the children go to sleep.
The storm raged with growing ferocity, the power was cut and the lights went out, the dehydrator was silenced. When the power was restored, Bruce pricked up his ears, ‘Does that dehydrator sound different to you?’
‘It’ll pick up in a minute,’ I muttered from the depth of my book.
A short time later Bruce suggest ed that we go to bed, adding ‘I wonder if I should check on the dehydrator?’
On entering the shed, Bruce found burning oil slowly moving across the floor towards the children bedroom. ‘Ole’ Syd was called, the dehydrator was shut down and the fire put out. ‘Ole’ Syd was also very upset and the dehydrator was not started again until safety mechanisms were installed that such an incident could never happen again.
We were rather shaken as we realised how close we had come to being burnt alive in our beds. We praised the Lord for saving us. We nearly lost not only our hats but the peg to hang them on in this case.
The words of the Psalmist express beautifully where security lies:
‘If you make the Most High your dwelling -
even the Lord who is my refuge –
then no harm will befall you,
no disaster will come near your tent.’
THE YOUNG HERO Jason Hunt needed no alarm clock to wake him on Monday morning. It was his school’s trip to Semaphore Beach. As Jase looked out of his bedroom window, he saw a glorious sun and blue sky. I t was going to superb swimming. Jase loved swimming. Living on the other Westside of Adelaide, to swim as much as he wanted to. “Jason!” his mother called from the kitchen where she was getting the breakfast and packing his lunch. “It’s time you were dressed and had your breakfast.” “Coming, Mum.” Jason hurried into the kitchen, grabbed the cereal packet, and tipped a generous portion into his bowl. “”You going to swim across the gulf or something, today,” his mother smiled at the mountain of cornflakes. “Yeah, Mum. Big day to day. Might even get to win my race.” “Well, don’t swim after you have eaten your lunch for awhile and be careful, won’t you.” “Yeah, Mum.” Jason was impatient of his mother’s fussing. Picking up his bag with towel, bathers, and lunch, stuffing his money into a side pocket, he aimed a kiss at his mother’s cheek, “Goodbye Ma. See ya later.” Goodbye, son.” Ruth Hunt smiled indulgently as her son slammed out of the house, hurrying for the bus. She was full of motherly pride. Well, she excused, comparing him with kids she knew he‘s not an angel I’ll admit, but he’s not a bad kid either and I can trust him. At school, Jason was lined up with his class and they filed onto the bus waiting at the curb to take them to the beach. “Can’t wait to dive into the water.” Jase said to his mate, Tim, as a blast of hot air rushed through the bus window. At the beach the teacher held them in line in the bus, controlling their exuberance at the sight of a cool aqua ocean, golden sand and blue sky. Gulls swooped and dived in graceful arcs across the sky. Jase felt elated as he pulled the hair of the girl in front of him. She turned and gave him a glare. ‘If there is any mucking about you will be barred from entering the races. ’ Miss James’s eyes rested meaningfully on Jason. Eventually Jason was on the beach. His toes wriggled in the sand like worms. Then he was in the water, striking out with long powerful strokes. Water flowed over his body caressing every muscle. This is so cool, he thought. I want to be a seaman when I grow up. Someone pulled at his feet and down he went under the water. He came up spouting water like a porpoise, shaking wet hair from his eyes. ‘Who did that?’ he gasped. Nearest to him was Tim and Jason slapped the water spraying into Tim’s face, he ducked to escape the shower and returned the spray. A whistle blew and it was time to return to the beach. “It is time to eat,” Miss James called. “When you’ve eaten you can go for a walk along the jetty while your lunch settles.” Everyone huddled into their towels and sat around like penguins in colored coats. There was a rustle of papers as lunches were extricated from their wrappings. In the space of a few minutes the sandwiches and fruit were disposed of. A bag was passed around for empty papers to be placed in. “Please, Miss, we’ve finished our lunch, can we go for a walk along the jetty?” Jason inquired respectfully. “Please wait until we can all go. Let ‘s all walk in an orderly fashion.” “Old bat! Why can’t we go now? We’re not babies.” Jason retorted under his breath, to Tim. “We might get lost or abducted,” squeaked Tim in a falsetto. A giggle went around those standing near by. Miss James’ glare rested on Jason. He was a trouble maker that kid. She would like to pass him on to Mr. Holt. Jason would learn what it was to behave under him. By now, the beach was full of people celebrating the first day of summer. Families clustered under colored umbrellas gave the beach a festive air. Bodies, half naked, lay browning like sautéed onions, in the sun. A large group of young men lounging near the piers supporting the jetty were noisily throwing the tinnies, they’d emptied, at each other. Passers-by who caught their attention were rudely abused. The group soon became isolated because of their behavior and their shouting was getting more abusive. Miss James led her charges away from them and up the stairs onto the jetty. People strolled along the jetty, some were fishing. A gentle little breeze filtered over the sea; the water crinkled with dancing pinpricks of light. Life was so good and Jason couldn’t resist a hop step and jump. Miss James caught the movement from the corner of her eye. ‘Jason Hunt if you step out of line once more you will go and sit in the bus until we leave for home.’ “But Miss I didn’t” --- “That is enough. I will not have you cheeking me.” Miss James cut off Jason’s explanation. Silence fell over the class and they sauntered under a dark cloud of mutiny. Miss James was sure touchy today. She was usually such fun. Each child registered the teacher’s frustration. Reaching the end of the jetty, the class milled around from one side to the other, looking into the green depths. “Ooh, look at the fish swimming.” Tim pointed out. “Wish I had my line.” “Argh, you couldn’t catch a fly,” Jason slapped Tim on the arm. Tim returned the slap with a light punch to the shoulder. Jason feigned a bruise. Just then a girl pushed passed the boys, to stand poised on the edge of the jetty, ready to dive into the cool green depths. It was Rachel Gibbs, taking her first swim of the year. She was reveling in the soft warm air swirling around her body. The cool green depths beckoned and she arced off the jetty in a graceful curve. As she did so, excruciating pain shot up her leg. Her dive turned into a belly flop and she sank like a stone. To lay there a white ghostly figure on the bottom. Jason had admired Rachel’s dive. He had noticed her flop into the water and thought that cramp had paralyzed the girl. He rushed to the edge. “Come back, Jason. You’re grounded.” yelled Miss James. Jason glanced over his shoulder, “Miss, she’s hurt. We’ve got to save her.” “She is just making out. Trying to show off. You come away from the edge. I don’t want to have to rescue you.” Miss James reaching for Jason’s arm. Other people were standing looking at the white watery shape below the water. “She’ll be OK. She’ll get up in a minute,” a dark haired woman scoffed. Seen her many times diving. Thinks’ she a smarty pants, she does.” “But it will be too late.” Jason was becoming frightened. He knew it didn’t take long to drown. Jase thought he saw movement under the water. He was sure she was trying to ask for help. He looked at Miss James standing stiff as a rod. He glanced at the crowd, they had dispersed, only one or two were standing nearby. Without further thought, Jason dived in. “Jason you come back here,” roared Miss James. Jason concentrated on all that he had learned in life saving lessons as he curved through the air and down to the stricken girl. He clasped her under the arms, struggling to raise her to the surface. Maybe someone would help him then. His lungs were at bursting point. The girl was like a log, being much bigger than him. Water broke as Jason and the girl surfaced. “Help, someone, She’s drowning.” The onlookers seemed hypnotized. Jason struggled for the shore. Just when he thought his strength had run out, his feet touched hard ground. Chest heaving like a pair of bellows, he tugged her unceremoniously out of the waves and turned her on her side “Help! Someone help’ he appealed to the crowd on the jetty. Jason was near to panicking. Rachel would die if he didn’t soon get help. He ran to the party of young men, “Please get an ambulance. She’ll die.” “Nah! We’re having a beer. Buzz off.” They lifted tinnies to their lips and sipped. Jason looked toward the Surf Lifesaving rooms. He’d have to leave Rachel alone and run to the Club if she was to get a chance. It was quite a sprint. Jason raced off, “Help! Someone’s drowning. Get an ambulance,” he gasped between breaths to a muscly, brown body staring seaward. Suddenly there were men everywhere, orders were issued, and someone asked him, “Where is she?” He gasped, “By the jetty.” The frenzied activity raced along the beach as the lifesavers dashed to Rachel’s side. They worked over her calmly and with precision. “Whatcher doin’mate?” One of the rowdies called. “Kissin’ ‘er. ‘Er Mummy will ‘ave a piece of yer.” One or two of the drink induced brave, staggered over, “She’s just puttin’ it on to get attention, mate.” One of the life savers looked up, “Please give us room. We need to keep working on this girl or she’ll die.” “Aw, don’t pull our leg,” and a glob of spit landed on the hand of one of the life savers. “It’s a pity those pigs wouldn’t go away.” The life saver calmly spoke and looked at the spitter. The message was loud and clear, though not a word was said. The spitter and his mates left, sheepishly giggling in a show of bravado Rachel took a breath, albeit a shaky one. The ambulance had now arrived and she was placed on a stretcher and raced to hospital. Hot on the tail of the Ambulance came the Police “What’s going on here?” Constable Crease asked. “This little boy just saved the life of a girl, who dived off the jetty and got into trouble.” A lifesaver spoke up. Miss James had now arrived, “He belongs to my class. We are on a school excursion.” “Miss, you must be proud of him. He did a wonderful job in saving the girl. He’s a very brave boy,” Constable Crease exclaimed. “Oh. Yes,” Miss James stammered, “He is a good student and I’m proud to have him in my class.” Her face was wreathed in smiles. So different from her demeanor a short while ago. Jason wondered if Miss James was the same person. He half expected to be grounded when he got back to school for disobeying. Instead, the Headmaster praised him, “Jason, I’m going to nominate you for a bravery award. What you did today was a very unselfish thing.” “But I only did what anyone would do. Rachel needed help and I just gave that help? But Jason was puzzled. That night when his mother came to say goodnight, he said, “Mum, why did all those people believe Rachel was putting it on? Why did those guys behave like animals? Rachel would have died if I hadn’t helped her.” Ruth Hunt looked at her son, with his wide blue eyes his bleached hair and snub nose. He saw as yet, no evil in the world, she wished, he would never lose his innocence and trust. “Son, it is the greatest of all mistakes to allow fear to stop you from doing anything. All those people were fearful of being laughed at or even drowning themselves. But you, despite your fear saved the girl. Never let your fear be the master.’ ‘Yes Mum!’ Jase was asleep. |
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The word renews the mind, but Faith changes the heart - It's not a mindset, it's a heart reset.
Jesse Duplantis |
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"Love forgets mistakes; nagging about them parts the best of friends."
A PROVERB. |
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