CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Onwards and Upwards
October 2001
The first week of October was so hectic I had little time to think about what was coming. On Monday morning at the library, I printed off several pages about the so-called “Spanish Inquisition” because I felt it had something to do with the castle fire. When I came across a picture of churchmen wearing wide-brimmed hats, I thought back to the seminarian who came to see Adrian. He wore a wide-brimmed hat. I next wondered if medieval churchmen wore capes. If they did, I wondered if one had the tendency to dramatically flick his off whenever he wanted to make a point. It was such an impressive image, a silhouetted man in a wide-brimmed hat throwing off his cape-like coat to a backdrop of thunder and lightning. In the 1980s, when I asked my brother about our father’s family, he told me about the earlier incident. I had forgotten about it, probably because it was so traumatic. According to John, I screamed like a banshee when our great uncle, a true swagman in every sense of the word, came visiting in a storm. When I opened the door, John said Uncle Job threw off his raincoat to shake off the water.
On Monday afternoon, with Tamara having completed her Reiki I degree, I went to her place with Petula and her girls so she could do her “prac”. She said my painfully swollen ankle was the result of emotional rather than physical issues. She also detected blockages in my throat and solar plexus chakras. When she detected a problem with Petula’s kidneys and knees, Petula told her the knees are the last line of defence when her kidneys start playing up, which she knew they were. It was a timely warning. The girls just thought it was great. Raywen had every reason to be proud her student.
On Tuesday, Leigh rang to arrange for Tamara and me to come over for a Reading-Reiki day on the 14th. I had barely put the phone down when Petula rang to tell me how impressed she was with Tamara. She had the best night’s sleep in weeks. Her eldest daughter even rose early to feed the cats. After breakfast, she washed up and cleaned her room! The next call I received was from Roberta, home safely from her trip. To top off an amazing day, Tamara told me she’s registering a business name as she is thinking of working from home. It was so exciting she even had me toying with the idea. I didn’t follow through because of the rigmarole involved. On Wednesday, Petula told me she got a part-time job at a Northgate snack bar, and on Thursday, Tamara rang to say she bought a massage table. On Friday, I got my ticket on the Sunlander: Carriage 7, Berth 19, the middle bunk. No going back now.
After attending the Self-Realization Fellowship on Sunday morning I spent several hours talking with Shelley. In the afternoon, I worked on Glenys’ painting, as I did for most of the following days. It was coming along nicely, and although happy with it for the most part, I re-did some sections because I didn’t feel they were quite right. It still bothered me that she wouldn’t tell me what she wanted. How was I supposed to know? That farm clearly meant a lot to her.
On Saturday October 13th, I got a happy email from Liz, now madly in love with Andrew. The next day, I woke to the heaviest rain in a long time. What a terrible day to drive to Narangba! Nonetheless, it turned out to be a great day for everyone concerned and Tamara made some valuable contacts. She has proven herself to be an exceptional healer, clairvoyant and palmist. On Wednesday, Steve and I drove to Millmerran where he had a job interview scheduled for 10.30am. The weather was horrendous. Not only did it rain all the way to Toowoomba, it took us ninety minutes to get out of Brisbane due to traffic accidents. On the way back, a shocking fatal truck accident ensured I wouldn’t be home in time to accompany Petula to her mediation session that afternoon. She had been terrified because of Neville’s obnoxious behaviour and said she needed me for moral support. As it turned out, she didn’t need me after all. His intransience ensured the case will be heard in the magistrate’s court. That he did not expect.
Steve didn’t get the Millmerran job. He was told he would be required to return for a welding test on the following Monday, but on Friday he got a letter, dated the day of the interview, informing him he wasn’t successful. On Monday morning, a woman rang to inform him the welding test had to be postponed. She had no knowledge of the letter. It was an abysmal example of the left hand not knowing what the right hand was doing. It was such a shame too, for it seemed the perfect job for him with me away, and we desperately needed the money. The same day Leigh rang to say her son had a shocking accident on his motorbike. Also a boilermaker, Eden was on his way home from Millmerran, where he was working on the same project Steve was interviewed for, the construction of a power station. I came to think there was a reason Steve didn’t get that job. The last major construction job he had was at Tarong, another power station. Being out of the construction field for so long proved to be a major impediment, but he surrendered the type of work he loved because of the kids. In the early 1980s, they were still so young for him to be away so much, and Che was a handful. He did manage to score a few smaller jobs in the interim, the most notable of which were the construction of the Yatula Brewery, Brisbane’s Myer Centre and the International Airport.
On Tuesday morning, Steve drove to Northgate railway station. From there, we got a train to Roma Street where the Sunlander was scheduled to leave just before 9am. We were sitting on a bench holding hands when three women walked past. The oldest of the three looked directly at me and smiled. In that instant, I knew she would be travelling with me. She was. Her name was Vi, short for Viola. She was deaf, but lip read exceptionally well. When I asked her why she smiled at me she said it was because the man with me and I were so in love. It was the first revelation of my trip and it had not even begun. As the train lurched away from the platform Steve and I frantically waved to each other. Anyone watching would have thought I was going on a holiday, not taking time out from my marriage.
Vi was a lovely lady in her late sixties. While we were talking she motioned to the door where I found the conductor waiting patiently to check our tickets. Before he left he told us another lady would be joining us at Nambour. I discovered to my pleasure that Vi was a spiritually-minded lady with many inspiring stories to tell. She studied reflexology late in life so she could help her husband. Sadly, he lost his battle with cancer and she was on her way to Cairns to spend time with her son. When the lady from Nambour boarded the train I knew Spirit had determined the best date for my trip north. Her name was Jane. She was a Reiki Master and qualified nursing sister who believed the holistic approach was the best approach. She also was into all things spiritual. She told me she “knew” I came from a Celtic background, and that I had “Second Sight” like my grandfather before me. I found that fascinating. Which grandfather? I asked, but she didn’t say. I decided it had to be Tom Casey.
Jane and Vi discovered to their amazement that they been born in the same town, had moved to the same towns around the same time, and despite being similar in age, had never met until that trip. Leaving them to talk, I went to lunch by myself, and because I was by myself, the young woman on duty ushered me to a table with three other people: two women and a man. Their names were Sybil, Fran, and Ray. None of us had met beforehand. Sybil was a Bowen resident who came to Brisbane for a writers’ convention. She told us she is writing a part fictional, part historical novel about the Vietnam War. She was a remarkable woman, the adventurous kind one reads about in romantic fiction. Her most recent job had been as private secretary in a publishing house, but she was a Jill of all trades. It was a welding job that took her to work for a family she is basing the book on. The husband was a fitter and turner by trade, but due to his horrific experiences in Vietnam, which he ultimately confided in Sybil, he was unable to continue. On top of all that, she is also an artist. With that, we learned Fran paints, too. I thought it interesting that all four women I connected with on that trip shared a profound fascination with Egypt and the Celtic lands. They loved my cupboard paintings and agreed with Shelley. There was something about Isis’ eyes.
Ray remained silent for most of the conversation, but spoke up when Sybil mentioned Vietnam. He was a Vietnam veteran who knew only too well the horrors experienced by the man she spoke of. He told us he was married to a Thai woman and has two children with her. He said he spends his time travelling between Australia and Thailand because of work commitments. The “Changi railroad[1]”, he said, built on the blood and sweat of Australian prisoners-of-war during World War II, is still the only access through much of the country.
When I returned to my berth, I told Jane and Vi about my lunch companions, which opened up many more delightful hours of conversation. What could have been a long and lonely trip north was anything but. The hours literally flew by and we were in Townsville before we knew it. Between fascinating conversations, Jane gave Vi and me Reiki treatments, Vi gave Jane and me foot and leg massages, and I read the Tarot for both of them. It was so perfectly perfect, but we had to part company in Townsville. Everyone heading north of Townsville had to disembark there and be bussed the rest of the way. Jane was going to Innisfail and Vi and I to Cairns, but we were all allocated separate buses. We met up again briefly at Cardwell, where all three buses pulled in for their passengers to have lunch. The reason for this inconvenience was the need to upgrade the tracks from Townsville to Cairns to accommodate the tilt train, said to cut the journey north by several hours. At the time, the tilt train went no further north than Rockhampton.
In Cairns, I managed one last glimpse of Vi before getting into Peter’s car. As she had studied psychology, she told me what Steve and I were going through was not unusual. We had an opportunity to turn things around, but he needs to understand what life will be like without me. I, on the other hand, need to connect with my inner self. Angels do exist, and I travelled with two of them.
By the time I arrived at Peter’s place I was very tired. He was the best person I could have stayed with, intuitively knowing when to speak and when to be silent. I woke on Thursday feeling well rested. The last thing Steve had said to me was that he would not call me. I could call him if I wanted too, though. This was my time and I deserved to spend it without worrying about him bothering me. The trouble was, I was already missing him on Wednesday night so I called him before falling asleep. Peter shared his old house on the hill with his two children, Kylie and Matt. They lived downstairs in the modern part he had built for them. I was quite happy upstairs. I spent a quiet day on Thursday for everyone was at work. Peter refused to accept my money so I told him I would clean the house, prepare the evening meals, and do whatever else he needed done.
After dinner on Thursday night, Peter and I talked about our childhoods. I had forgotten so much. He was two and a half years my junior, yet he remembered more. How could that be? How much of my childhood had I blocked out? When John told me about the incident with Uncle Job, I asked him how old I was. He said I was six or so. Whole blocks of my life were missing. I knew I could retrieve them if I wanted to run the risk of also remembering the abuse. I wasn’t ready for that. On Friday, I did some ironing and mending, which meant I had to figure out how to thread Peter’s sewing machine. Matt was a boilermaker, as was John’s son, Michael, so his work clothes, like Steve’s, were torn, burnt, and grease-stained. Peter worked as a building inspector with Mareeba Shire Council. Kylie was a dental nurse.
On Saturday, I had a long chat with Kylie and gave her a reading. She’s lovely, and like most Aquarians, very spiritual. I also developed a good relationship with Peter’s best friend and soul mate, Kay, also an Aquarian. She was with him when he came to see me many years earlier. Just as I was about to tell him how much I approved of his new lady something stopped me. I was glad because Peter and Kay’s friendship was purely platonic. She was sister to his best friend and former workmate, Gary. When driving to Atherton in the ‘70s to visit Gary, he stopped the car in the middle of the highway to gaze in wonder at the beauty surrounding him. “God’s Country” he called the far north. He knew then where he would spend the rest of his days.
Kay and Peter may have ended up together if not for Roslyn, Peter’s ex-wife. Tall, dark and handsome, Peter and his panel van attracted the attention of eligible Atherton girls, each wondering what was concealed within its battered exterior. Most believed it was a “love nest.” It wasn’t, Kay said with a twinkle in her eye, “Just tools, clothes and a mattress.” In her determination to snare the fetching young man from Brisbane, Roslyn pulled out all stops. She succeeded only to break his heart years later. It was a sad story, and to his credit, Peter never stooped to her level. My first memory of Roslyn was a good one. She brought me some small crocheted booties for Kristen as she had such tiny feet. My next memory of her was in the late '80s, when the family came down for Expo 88. She had suffered many miscarriages, as had Kay, but she also lost a son. Anthony, who was born with a heart defect, lived for about a day. Many years later, when Matthew arrived on the same day, I told Peter he was Anthony reincarnated. All he said was: “We won’t go there.”
Peter became the best father-mother to those kids, for that’s what he was. Kay helped out when she could, but she had her own family. She told me about a reading she had years before when she was told she would care for three extra people. She never knew what that meant until Roslyn left. Kylie and I were talking one afternoon when the subject of her mother came up. She was very bitter. A great deal of harm was done, but thanks to Peter’s love, it didn’t destroy his children. When talking about the Wilston house, she told me she was glad Uncle Pat denied Peter the right to buy it. “She would have made sure she got it, just to twist the knife.” Kylie said through clenched teeth. “Pete would never have recovered from that.” It also galled her that she inherited her mother’s blonde good looks while Matt took after his dark-haired father.
On Saturday afternoon, Peter left to “get something” and Matt told me he wouldn’t be staying for tea. He was going to Cairns for there was “no nightlife in Mareeba”. Kylie wouldn’t be home either. She was heading into town to “hit the piss.” When Peter returned, I was shocked to find what the “something” was. Battery hens. Stressed out, ex-battery hens. He heard they were going to be destroyed. He couldn’t have that. If he noticed what my face must have looked like, he never commented. I went to bed early that night, but woke up when Peter and Kay arrived. They had been to a Little A’s (Little Athletics Association) meeting. They were both heavily involved with Little Athletics and had been for years. We talked until after midnight. I told them Che had booked my return trip and Kay suggested I fly back as it would be a much shorter trip. In the morning I called Che and he agreed. She booked the flight for me and on Monday, he cancelled my train ticket. I was to return on November 24th.
From that Sunday, and every morning for the remainder of my stay, I took Peter’s bucket of scraps to the chook pen. On Sunday, the hens were too afraid to show themselves. On Monday, two braver ones came out to see what I brought them. On Tuesday, I was enthusiastically greeted by them all as I opened the gate. It was surreal to think about what Sarina said and equate that with the way the chickens behaved, but something was definitely happening. Every day I spoke to them as if they were people, and I swear they understood what I was saying. When I wasn’t doing anything else, I was on Peter’s computer. Liz had asked me to connect with her on Yahoo Instant Messenger, so there I sat, chatting with her for hours a day, in between running to hang up another load of washing or doing something else. Andrew or Andy, as she then called him, was married, not that it made one iota of difference to either of them.
On the last day of October, I tried drawing something in preparation for a painting but found myself blocked. I had brought with me two canvas boards, pencils, acrylic paints, and some brushes. When I told Steve about my plight he suggested I paint Peter’s house. I thought he was joking. Peter had been trying to paint his house since 1998, and as far as I could see, the frame work hadn’t moved much from where it was then. It wasn’t until he said it again, and this time emphasising the word “paint”, that I understood. It was a brilliant idea! I knew there was a reason I decided to keep him around.
1 In 1942, nearly 13,000 Australian soldiers from the Changi POW camp toiled away on 420 kilometre Thai-Burma railroad, known as the Railway of Death. 2,646 never returned. Suffering disease, malnutrition, and other afflictions, they were forced to work by day with minimum tools and rations, and at night, were crammed into steel freight cars with little ventilation. Survivors were returned to Changi until the end of the war.
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