GUEST AUTHOR: CLANCY TUCKER

PA JOE'S PLACE

Book orders: T: 03-57742043 or clancy_tucker@hotmail.com
Blog: www.clancytucker.blogspot.com.au
Website: www.clancytucker.com.au
I recommend visiting Clancy’s blog site, which is always most informative!

ODE TO QUEENSLAND

INTRODUCING

I HAVE THE GREAT PLEASURE OF INTRODUCING AND RECOMMENDING MY GOOD FRIEND AND FELLOW AUTHOR

NONSENSE POEMS

THE SONG OF THE GRUB….

HEALTH PROBLEMS ON THE ROAD

Whenever I felt the need to eat, I made a habit of stopping where the big interstate trucks parked because there, for sure, would be the best food and best comfort! In summer, their air conditioning would be working well and in winter, there would be, for sure, a warm log fire to relax by. On this day, I found myself looking for a place to have a mid-afternoon snack. The nearby large roadhouse looked inviting, and there had been a group of semi-trailers congregated in the vast car park, waiting for their owners.

‘Good afternoon’ a friendly greeting made me relax right away.

Sitting down in a cosy nook, I had asked for a chicken salad and a pot of coffee in accordance with the weight-watching program I was undergoing at the time.

‘Very well.’ The young lass had made notes and disappeared into the kitchen.

The background music was all ‘country’ and I had glanced into a newspaper for the latest news on the economic front, what so-and-so said in Parliament and the reply from the opposition, the news from the footy teams and how they dealt with unruly players.

Boring, boring, I thought - always the same. But it helped me to relax, so much so that I felt like dozing off.

‘Here you are luv,’ a friendly-voiced waitress put down some cutlery, pepper and salt and then ‘bang!’ an enormous bowl of something appeared in front of me. My sleepy eyes  snapped wide open and I gasped in shock. It was a large mound of salad, piled high above the rim of the bowl, and on top of it, carefully balanced, was a half a grilled chicken!

I can’t eat all that, I thought. What a portion! Looking around helplessly I had seen on each table one or two tall, burly men in singlets or T-shirts, tucking with gusto into similar mountains of food. They all seemed to take the size of the portions for granted! Trying to fit in with the other ‘road people’, I had pretended to tuck in with great appetite. But I still had to furtively wrap most of the chicken into a paper napkin to take ‘home’ to my motel room.

Later, back in my car and driving off, I had made a mental note to check the size of the meals in future before ordering.

Upon approaching the town of Darebin, I had remembered some friends in Melbourne asking me what I did if I fell sick or something similar whilst on a country trip.

Well, on my last trip to Darebin, I had lifted a heavy case of samples out of my car. Grabbing it wrongly, or misjudging my ability, my back had given out and the pain which shot up and down my spine was excruciating. I had managed to drag myself into a motel room, close the door and fall on top of the bed. The pain got worse because the bed had suddenly become so unbearably soft. Carefully, I had managed to slide off it and slowly lower myself onto the thickly carpeted floor. The relief was instant - no pain, no aches. I managed to pull down from the bed a pillow and a blanket.

Never had I thought a floor could be so comfortable to lie on. I slept through the evening and the night, but before I dozed off I had wondered what the staff would say if they came in the morning to make the bed and found me on the floor, unable to move. Would there be a doctor in the town that could come and help me? How long would I have to lie on the floor before I could move again? I was a long way from home . . .

However, when I woke up in the morning, I had felt extremely well and had no more problems with my back! As I slept deeply, nature had taken over and healed, like the utilities programs in my computer, I thought.

Another time, I had caught a bad flu virus. I must have shaken hands with a real germ carrier of an architect! Arriving at a motel, I had checked in with a croaky voice and running nose, shivering and obviously with a slight temperature. Once holed up in my room, I had helped myself from the courtesy bar to a tea bag and a small bottle of Bundaberg rum. After a cup of hot tea laced with rum and when ensconced in a warm bed, I had started to glow like a stop sign. But again, when I woke up the next morning, although my pyjamas were wet with sweat and my hair was sticking to my scalp and forehead, I felt fine, even on top of the world I had thought,

Another time things were a bit trickier for me. Again, on a country trip, I had parked my car in front of a hospital engineer’s office. The ground was so uneven that I had twisted and sprained my ankle. First I took no notice of the pain and completed my business with the engineer before driving off. As soon as I was on the road, I had noticed that my left ankle was swollen and extremely painful. Putting my car in ‘cruise control’, I had experienced immediate relief. But every time I had to slow down and use the brake, the pain that shot up my leg was indescribable. I never noticed before how often one has to brake, even on a clear freeway! Finally I arrived at the next town and, jumping on one leg, with gritted teeth and bated breath, I checked myself in at my motel,

The next day I went to the local hospital by taxi, where a doctor x-rayed my ankle and put bandages on it. I hired a pair of crutches from the nearest chemist and spent the next two days in my room, conducting my business as well as I could, from my telephone. Other illnesses have, thankfully, never happened to me whilst on a business trip.

DRIVING THROUGH A LOCUST PLAGUE

On the horizon there was something like fog and I was driving right into it. At first I noticed the occasional locust splashing on the windscreen and I had winced in my seat. The creatures turned into something like scrambled eggs and slid down the windscreen in a gooey, slimy mass. My windscreen washers did their work and cleared the screen, but this was becoming increasingly difficult as the number of smashing locusts increased. What would happen if I ran out of water to clean the windscreen? I thought. And then I noticed the red warning light indicating an overheated radiator. Just now this had to happen, I thought bitterly. Turning into a roadhouse, I quickly parked my car and ran into the restaurant part where I found a man looking worriedly at the darkening sky.

‘My radiator has suddenly overheated and I think I need fresh water.’

The attendant appeared to be amazed at my naive talk and advised me out of the corner of his mouth: ‘Nothing to do with it. You have to brush the locusts off your radiator and you’ll be alright. You’ll still need some water for topping-up’.

He suddenly had a small hand broom in his hand and walked to my car where he brushed an amazing amount of roasted locusts from the radiator – all crispy fried, I thought. After everything was checked - water, petrol and the windscreen was cleaned properly once more - I was about to drive off.

But first, I returned to the service station’s office and bought a small hand broom and felt slightly safer. Returning to my car in a haze of swarming locusts, I had noticed the horizon looking black. All the time the chirping noise and flying whirr of the creatures had been sawing at my nerves. A four wheel drive had pulled up behind me and I asked the farmer who emerged from his heap of scrambled eggs what else one could do in such a situation. He glanced at me in a strange way. Somehow, they all seemed to know how to cope with a situation like that one.

‘Well, you’ve got a small brush or hand broom, I see,’ he pointed at it. ‘You surely need netting in front of your radiator . . .’

‘What’s that?’ I interrupted.

He pointed to his vehicle. ‘What you need is a fibreglass mesh tied in front of your radiator to prevent the bloody locusts from clogging up your radiator.’

I stared at the flywire mesh in front of his radiator – that’s the solution, I thought.

The farmer noticed that I was simple and added ‘Of course you still need to get out of your car occasionally and brush it clean once in a while. Otherwise your radiator may still boil!’

I had thanked him with great relief and gone back into the service station’s office where I bought some flywire mesh and tied it in front of my car’s front grille.

Upon continuing my trip into the ‘black hole’, I learned what fear was. You cannot see the road ahead; your windscreen wiper cannot clean away quickly enough the messy slime that runs down the windscreen. And when you are out of water, and the radiator is hot again, you have to get out and brush away the insects and that’s when they get you. In the stifling heat, they crawl into the car, into your clothes and as quickly as you brush them off, they clog up your mesh again. And all the while, that high pitched chirping is penetrating your brain and you cannot do anything about it!

With my suit clinging wet to my body, shaking and wide eyed with terror, I got through the swarm, headlights blazing. At the next roadhouse, I steadied myself with a strong cup of coffee.

While the mechanic filled up the petrol tank and checked the motor and radiator, he tried to talk to me: ‘So, you’ve been through that swarm already. They are expected here by tomorrow. Then we will have trouble,’ he said with a grim expression. ‘You won’t believe what they eat. There is nothing left wherever they strike!’

‘I thought the Government was spraying their areas to reduce the swarm.’

‘Yeah, but only crown land, me boy!

‘What do you mean? They spray only on government land and across the fence, on private property, nothing is being done? And there is more private land than crown land in some areas. That’s no good.’ I got agitated. ‘The authorities are bragging on the radio about what they are doing to break the plague while they keep breeding on private land.’

He laughed, ‘You’ve just learned a lesson now, haven’t you?’

I swallowed bitterness. ‘Yes, I suppose I just have.’

HELPING A FRIEND…….

The town of Bilbool was not very far. I had already passed its signs and soon I would be amongst houses again. Bilbool was a small country town and I only had to visit a school, a Government department and a bush nursing hospital.

The school had always fascinated me. It was so small that the principal was also a teacher, the cleaner and God knows what else. It had a small administrative building made of red bricks, many years ago, and since the town’s population was dwindling, there was plenty of space everywhere.

‘Good morning,’ I greeted the friendly lady behind the office counter. ‘Would Mr Frank Upton be in? I don’t have a firm appointment but he is expecting me today.’

She smiled. Obviously, they did not get too many reps. calling, being in the middle of grain-growing country with little else to warrant a visit from far away Melbourne.

‘He is teaching right now but just knock on the door and he will come out. But he may ask you to wait till recess.’

‘That is fine.’ I thanked her and walked the long corridor in search of a classroom with children and a teacher in it. Through the glass windows I could see into empty classrooms that would have been filled with children in days gone by. With young people flocking to the cities, country towns now struggled to preserve their small communities.

Sure enough, the last classroom to my right hand side was active. Children were sitting on their small chairs and listening with admiration and awe at what was being taught. At the front of the room, I saw Frank, the principal, teacher, caretaker, and whatever other functions he may have had in this little country school. He looked more like a farmer than a teacher, with his shirtsleeves rolled up, his collar unbuttoned. His sunburnt face, with lean features beneath a tussled shock of hair, was animated as he talked. I had also noticed that his pearly white teeth and blue eyes, cheerfully darting from one child to another, accentuated his personality. And, of course, he wore the grey gabardine trousers of the country folk and matching desert boots, made for walking on unsealed roads.

Suddenly, I realised that he was teaching German language. His blackboard was covered with picture cut-outs of various household articles and he kept pointing at them with a thick forefinger. I don’t know what came over me, but I knocked on the classroom door, opened it and stuck my head in.

I heard myself say in German: ‘Could I see you for a moment, please? I won’t keep you long.’

He flashed a smile at me and nodded. I am sure he mentally checked my grammar. However, my question had a noticeable effect on the children. Their mouths dropped open and they stared at me utterly surprised. Obviously, they had accepted a foreign language as being something to give them a hard time in school, but that somebody would actually speak it, when he didn’t have to, seemed to astonish them.?

‘That was a surprise, Peter,’ Frank extended a grateful hand. ‘Could I ask you to wait another ten minutes, when we have recess? I shall not teach for the rest of the morning and I am all yours then.’

‘Great, Frank. I shall wait outside the reception area. Alright with you?’

‘Perfect! See you soon.’ He went back into the classroom and recommenced torturing the poor children with a difficult language.

It turned out that Frank wanted my advice on installing a safety floor in the passageway. ‘Every time it rains, the rain water comes inside, making the corridor slippery and downright dangerous for the children’.

I had a look at the situation. ‘Frank, I’ll give you my honest opinion. The installation of safety flooring will cost a large sum of money and will still not solve your problem.’

‘Well, what do you suggest?’ Obviously, Frank was not keen to spend money unnecessarily. And if a floor covering rep. advises against buying flooring, there must be a valid reason.

‘Your main entrance to the school has no porch; it is flat and without protection. You step from outside directly inside. The rain hits your entrance and virtually comes inside every time the door is opened. And even closed, it runs from outside into your interior as there is no barrier.’

‘Y-yes. But what can be done about it?’ He was keen to make the right decision and was prepared to listen.

‘You have no roof protruding as a barrier for rain. If you had at least a canvas or aluminium awning which would act like an umbrella, the rain would fall at a distance from your entrance! ‘This, combined with outdoor industrial matting and another industrial mat inside, a minimum of five paces long, would take everything off the soles of shoes and your corridor would be dry.’

‘That is very good advice, Peter. It certainly would cost less than replacing a floor. I’ll be glad when I’ve stopped the kids from slipping.’

‘Now, hang on, Frank.’ I interrupted his beautiful thoughts. ‘There may be kids still falling because they push and shove each other. Even if you had a safety floor, there is no guarantee that nobody will slip - ever! But you will reduce the chance considerably if discipline is high.’

‘But that means your own advice will lose your company business,’ he said looking puzzled.

‘We do not work that way’ I explained to Frank. ‘If you really needed flooring I would say so. But I will not recommend something that’s not necessary’.

Frank assured me that he would get some quotations for a large awning and industrial matting and do his homework budget-wise. We shook hands and I left with the elating feeling of having helped a friend!

A STRANGE CAT IN MY CAR….

It was late that afternoon, actually early evening,

when I drove into “my Motel”, as I liked to call it. It

was a small establishment run by an Italian couple who

were extroverts and very service minded. The rooms

were large, clean and the air conditioning was powerful

but without the usual noise I had to put up with in other

motels. After a long and hectic day I always looked

forward to turning my car into the driveway of my

favourite motel, which I considered my ‘second home’.

The sun was setting behind the town’s fruit orchards and

glowing deep crimson, the red soil was getting darker

and the cicadas supplied the music to this, now tranquil,

world.

With the expectation of a restful evening, I had parked

my vehicle in the motel’s car park. Preparing to go to

reception, I suddenly had the sensation of not being

alone in my car! I glanced back at the interior of my

station wagon, typically filled with lots of samples and

catalogues, and immediately looked again: there was a

cat sitting in the back seat, staring at me! It was a large,

beautiful, tabby cat, her long luxurious fur well groomed

and she was wearing a red collar, studded with metal

‘tips’. What a shock! I said the most stupid thing that

came to my mind: ‘Where did you come from?’

No answer came from the cat, just a stare and a blink.

I could not imagine how that cat had entered my car nor

how long had she been there, but I could see that she was

well fed and obviously somebody’s darling. There was

no doubt that I had to find the owner the next day by

driving back to all the places I had been!

As tired as I was by then, I had to drive to the nearest

supermarket and buy cat food, kitty litter and milk and

search for a cardboard box for a toilet - the works!

I laid out everything in my roomy station wagon as

animals were not allowed in motel rooms. I spread out

the blanket that I always had with me and my cushion,

which normally supported my back whilst driving, all

the time calmly observed by the cat. When I had finished

preparing the cat’s toilet, she reached into the box,

scooped up a paw-full and let the fine grain run through

her claws and seemed to be satisfied with my set-up.

Wishing her a ‘Good Night!’ I gently closed the car door,

leaving a window open slightly for fresh air.

The following day saw me calling on everybody I had

seen the previous day, only this time with a cat under my

arm. But everywhere I went, people waved a ‘No’, and

suddenly some seemed less friendly then the day before.

In fact, they made me feel as if I were peddling cats!

Country town after country town, shop after shop,

architects, government departments, hospitals - I

re-visited them all with the cat. Finally, it turned out to

belong to the very first shop I had called on! The owners

of the cat were - yes - Frank Cleary and his wife Sue. At

first, Frank Cleary looked surprised to see me again so

soon. But his face was long and serious. When he saw

the cat he transformed into the happiest person in the

world. It was his cat and since he and his wife had no

children, the cat obviously was a much-loved member of

the family.

Whilst I had been showing him new samples, running

back to my car several times and taking things out and

into the shop, the door must have been left open when

‘it’ happened. The cat had obviously jumped inside and

spent the whole day sleeping in the back seat behind me!

Only at the end of my day did it awake and start to stare

holes into my back.

Mrs Cleary was phoned and told the good news and

she arrived at the shop within a few minutes. When

they discovered that their cat was not hungry and they

realised how well I had looked after her, they could not

thank me enough for the trouble I had taken.

Despite having lost a whole working day, which I had

to make up somehow, I left feeling on top of the world.

If I could only I could have delivered lost cats to their

loving owners on a full-time basis - it would have been

my paradise on earth!

Peter Frederick

http://www.peterfrederick.org                                    http://www.life-on-the-road.com

 

TROUBLES ON A PLANE

Adjusting to the arctic temperatures of Sweden, after leaving Australia’s sweltering summer heat, was not easy. But I managed to acclimatise to these conditions very quickly. I had been sent to Sweden by the company I worked for to study the manufacturing methods and to learn about the PVC floor coverings that were produced there.

This was to help me be more informed so that I could assist my clients back home. It was a steep, yet enjoyable, learning period. Everything seemed so pleasant and fascinating during my stay in Sweden. My days were filled with meeting interesting people and inspecting pioneering manufacturing technologies.

But what really impressed me was the cleanliness. From their vast factories, in which the floors were tiled in a light colour, and the workers wore white socks, white wooden clogs and even white dustcoats.

On the last evening before leaving for home, I was invited to attend a banquet in which I was given an opportunity to thank everybody from the parent company, for their kindness and hospitality. Normally I would have been looking forward to such an event, but the newspapers had been reporting on a new kind of flu epidemic that was expected to spread all over Europe. It had started in England, where the first cases were already being treated in the hospitals.

This news alarmed me as I wanted to return to Australia in a healthy state so I could resume my job, as I was the company’s only Australian representative, covering the Victorian, Tasmanian and the Riverina areas of New South Wales, I could not afford to be sick, as there was no-one who could call on my customers.

The banquet was a glittering affair and the people were very amiable. I had the Swedish company official at my side during the entire evening; he kept introducing me to people and translated conversations, whenever this was necessary, but I found that most people I spoke to have a good command of the English language, albeit with a lovely Swedish lilt, and it was a pleasure to converse with them.

‘Please meet Mrs Sorensen, our Interior design consultant’ Sven, the interpreter, said with a magnanimous gesture towards a very tall and attractive lady. Elegant in her winter dress, blond hair and blue-eyes, and with a warm smile, she extended her hand. ‘How nice to finally meet you, Peter.’ Her English was perfect with only a slight accent, which made it sound more attractive.

‘My husband just came back from England yesterday, there is such an awful flu going round there, everybody is so very sick, it is absolutely dreadful!’ Horrified, I tried to extricate my hand from hers but it was too late! It was a long and welcoming handshake, too long for my comfort, and when I finally withdrew my hand, I furiously rubbed it against the side of my suit whilst trying to hold my smile and keep the conversation going.

But it was too late! On my flight from Stockholm to Vienna, where I had to catch my connecting flight to Australia, I started to feel the beginning strains of flu. And by the time I reached Vienna, I was sweating profusely, my body had uncontrollable shakes, and I had started vomiting.

I advised the airline of my state of health, but still agreed to accept me as passenger, regardless of my state of health. “If I can only arrive in Melbourne alive, I’ll be all right!” I kept saying to myself. Before I left on the flight home, I obtained some medicine from the local doctor to try and help stabilise my increasingly troublesome stomach.

I can’t remember how I got on the plane, but I slumped into an aisle seat near the toilets, with a plastic water bottle in my hands. As the long-lasting cramps shook my body. I searched desperately for my medication that I had slid into the pouch of the seat in front of me for easy access.

I did not realise that by inserting my hands into the pouch, I was actually moving my fingers in the seat of the person in front of me. She was a tall and thin lady, a kind of school-Marm type, and when she felt my fingers moving around on her seat, her posture stiffened in exercised control and you could hear her threateningly drum her finger nails on the little plastic tray in front of her.

A man observed all this across the aisle from her; he bent towards me and with an Australian accent whispered, ‘Hey, are you’re searching for something in that pocket?’ and then added, ‘You have your fingers on her arse...’ lifting his plastic cup of beer in approval, smiling encouraging at me, obviously meaning well.

This revelation came as a shock, even in my foggy state, and quickly jerked my hands out of the pouch. I heaved myself out of my seat, pale and with unsteady and slurred speech, I mumbled an apology to the stern looking lady.

Looking up at my glassy eyes, her face betrayed her thoughts. She did not believe a word I was babbling and, judging from her body language, she would have slapped my face had I not stopped my ‘lustful groping’.

Thinking the worst was over, on one of my many trips to the toilet, I heard a banging on the door and muffled voices shout to the flight attendant that there had been a man in there for quite a while and that he may have fainted…

Suddenly, the locked door was ripped open with many arms reaching inside and grabbing me, and then dumped me back into my aisle seat like a sack of potatoes, leaving me sitting there on my own.

The passengers on the flight had their own little bit of theatre, and I suppose any diversion or entertainment is always welcome on the long flight back to Australia.

(Excerpt from my latest book ON THE ROAD AGAIN - and laughing all the way!)

May I invite you to leave a comment?

Peter Frederick

http://www.peterfrederick.org

http://www.life-on-the-road.com

NEW BOOK RELEASE

ON THE ROAD AGAIN

…and laughing all the way!

Do you love to laugh? Enjoy a ridiculous situation? If yes, then why not download a sample chapter of my latest book from my website? It is full of hilarious recollections of the funniest encounters of a travelling salesman and interspersed with mellow moments.

Only life itself can create such incredible encounters. Come and join me in my travels through Australia’s beautiful countryside and experience the adventure of being on the road again!

Peter Frederick

http://www.peterfrederick.org

http://www.life-on-the-road.com