ME AND THE KGB / NKVD ……..

Dear Visitor,

Today, I have the pleasure of introducing a guest author, my good friend Michael Muschamp, and am confident that you will enjoy his amusing reminiscing as much as I do. PETER FREDERICK

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Yes, I know the heading should be “The NKVD and I”. Whatever, at least it rhymes.

1962 found me in London where I had worked for three years or so as manager of a New Zealand firm’s UK office. Not the world’s biggest office; self plus secretary and the occasional visiting fireman.

For the past three years, I had been sharing an office in the posh environs of Mayfair with another Kiwi, Alex Marks, who was the London end of a large NZ construction company. His boss and mine were good friends and the arrangement worked very well until the summer of ’62 when, for reasons unknown either to me or Alex, the bosses fell out and I was told to find an alternative home. Which I did, just round the corner from the ‘old’ one. Mind you, to get to my small office on the first floor, you had to fight your way past he rubbish bins of the ground floor caff.

Alex was about fifteen years my senior, a chap of medium height, greyish hair, bright eyes behind large rimmed glasses. Annually, he attended his good friend, a Jewish tailor, and bought two suits; by the month’s end they looked as if he’d slept in them. He probably had, for his success with the opposite sex was, not to put too fine a point on it, extraordinary. Given that he was usually emitting a good deal of garlic, I could only remain somewhat staggered

An example of his success in this important aspect of heterosexual life occurred in the spring of 1962. We met, by arrangement, in Geneva, both en route to the Hannover Fair, the biggest of its kind in Europe. It was chilly for the end of April but we put up with the temperature and had a coffee in a lakeside café. There was hardly a soul there, save for, a few tables away, an attractive woman in, I guessed, her early thirties.

We left to do our own bits of business, arranging to meet at Alex’s hotel three hours hence, i.e. at 7.30. A stickler for punctuality (a defect which has haunted me ever since my naval days), I knocked on Alex’s door at precisely 1930, local time. The door was opened. But not by Alex but the “lady by the lake”.

She joined us for dinner and left immediately after, explaining that her husband was due home early next morning. She spoke English with a decided Russian accent, but, at the time, I thought no more of that, knowing Alex’s love of his native country and its language.

He had arrived in New Zealand in 1920, the youngest of three children whose parents had undertaken the perilous journey to escape the Bolshevists, via Siberia and Kamkatcha for, as I was to discover a little later, they were , in the words of another émigré, “upper-middle class intellectuals, a bit like the Huxleys”. The language at home in Wellington, where they eventually settled, was Russian. Indeed, his father who was one of the founders of New Zealand’s radio manufacturing business, only spoke a very few words of English to his dying day and, whatever their family name was, it certainly wasn’t Markov or even Marx, the anglicised version of which had become Alex’s patronymic.

A few months later, in early October, it was cold, grey in England and, when it wasn’t raining, looked as if it would do so at any tick of the clock.

The newspapers, the BBC and ITV (thank God, only two channels then) were full of dire warnings. World War Three was just a-round the corner. Or, so they said. The United States and the USSR were playing a deadly game of ‘chicken’. Who was going to crack first as the Russian ships bearing missiles for Mr Castro were approaching Cuba?

My previous employment as a naval officer meant that I was subject to recall to the forces of the Crown whenever a state of emergency was declared or such seemed likely. Thus, I was not completely bewildered when my phone rang and an unmistakably military voice said, “Muschamp?”

“Michael Muschamp,” I replied, hoping, in vain, as it transpired, that the disembodied one might be a little less peremptory.

“You’re on the Emergency List of the RN, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I was transferred from the RNZN when I came to live in England.” I purposely omitted ‘sir’ as I had no idea who was interrogating me. I didn’t have long to wait.

“I’m Colonel Allen, War Office,” quoth the ill-mannered one, “come to my office in Curzon Street tomorrow at eleven.”

Not so much as ‘by your leave’ or ‘hope you haven’t another appointment.’

“I’ll be there, sir.”

“Room 35 on the third floor. Don’t be late.”

Having established that the fellow was three ranks senior to me (maybe only two as Lieutenant-Colonels are usually referred to without the first word), I thought I had better throw in the ‘sir’ in aid of good and friendly British Commonwealth relations. And ‘Curzon Street’ meant ‘MI5’, a fact of which I had become quite aware. for, before she was lucky enough to marry me, my wife had worked there though, of course, her post was a good deal junior to that of the peremptory “Brown Job” (the navy’s epithet for army personnel).

This exchange had left me aghast. I was fully aware that, some seven years since I had ‘been at sea’, I would be about as much use to one of Her Majesty’s Ships as a rope entangled in a propeller (‘screw’ in naval parlance). Nevertheless, I fronted the apparently anonymous Curzon Street building, told the guard who I was and where I was going. He checked, made a phone call to which he contributed,

“He’s in a suit, sir. Quite smart, actually.”

Some compliment.

I took a creaky lift to the third floor, found Room 35 and knocked.

“Come in, damn you.”

So I came in.

To face an angry-looking fifty-ish man, regimental tie, rather creased suit. He motioned me to a chair opposite him.

“Siddown.”

If that’s the way to win friends and influence people, I went to the wrong school, I mused.

I sat.

“This feller Alex Marks, you know him?”

“Yes, sir. We shared an office until about six months ago.”

“Why did you leave?

“Our respective bosses in Auckland had a bit of a falling-out.”

“But you still see Marks?”

“Yes, he’s a very good friend.”

“Funny sort of friend. You know he’s a Russian?” 

“ I know he was born in Moscow about 1916 and fled eastward with his family a bit later.. They finished up in New Zealand after a hair-raising trip. Not that he remembers it, but I’ve met his sister who told me about it.”

“You know he’s been seeing some Russians from their embassy here?”

“Yes, sir. I went with him once to the Moscow Arms where he introduced me to several Russians.” (The pub’s name had nothing to do with matters Russian except for the odd coincidence that it was in Moscow Road. In West Kensington) “But they all wanted to speak Russian so I didn’t go again. Of course he knows plenty of Russians who live here. He enjoys speaking Russian and, as someone once said, ‘You can take the man out of Russia but you can’t take Russia out of the man’”

“Well, I don’t want you to see him any more.”

“Might I enquire, sir, what right you have to tell me this? I may well be on the Emergency List of the Navy, but I am yet to be called up and I was unaware that a State of Emergency had been declared.”

“You are a cheeky young colonial. Get out.” 

So I got out.

I didn’t tell Alex.

(to be continued…..)

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NOTE: 

Would you like to leave a message for  Michael, right below? Many thanks!

MISSING SLIM DUSTY IN CONCERT…..

I turned and there was Ian, a youngish architect, smiling at me. He had set himself up on his parents’ farm and travelled up and down the country district, finding business and was seemingly cushioned against the vagaries of the economy that his city counterparts dread so much. Conducting my business was easy as Ian was naturally friendly to visitors. He did not get too many and that made me very welcome.

‘Be careful when you drive on to Dunkston and into Victoria,’ he warned.

‘I know, Ian, I heard about the plague of locusts on the radio. Unfortunately, I will have to spend a day in town because I have to put my car in for service,’ giving him an accusing look which went unnoticed. Anyhow, I wondered what there was to warn about? They were tiny creatures, weren’t they? What could they do? Plus, the government was constantly announcing that it was spraying the area, obviously killing them off before they started swarming, so if I kept the windows closed and the air conditioning on, they could not get to me. I just had to drive through the swarm in comfort. Easy!

Well, it wasn’t! I was wrong as usual and my hair greyed a bit more than nature intended. But first, I had to get the car serviced. There were two good mechanics and I chose one with the least cars waiting. The workshop was located at the begin of the town and it was unique because it had a life-size mannequin outside, near the road, with a motorised arm waving motorists into its driveway. Obviously, the owner of the petrol station cum repair shop had a sense of humour!

Looking at the dummy, I had noticed that it was also being used as an advertising medium for other things because it had a large sign hanging from its neck, inviting everybody to a play in the town: ‘Rome, sweet Rome’ it said in large letters - obviously a pun directed at the Italian population of the area. Also, the dummy was dressed in a Roman toga and, like in ancient Rome, had a laurel wreath placed on its realistic wig. With its finely detailed face and accurate proportions the mannequin really did look lifelike! To make it attract even more attention, the service station owner had installed a windscreen wiper motor that moved the arm. Waving at passers-by and directing motorists into the driveway was certainly a clever set-up!

Wally, the owner came out, smiling. He knew that another city slicker had been lured into his establishment! ‘You like my dummy, then?’ he started a conversation.

‘It’s incredibly lifelike! It certainly gets a lot of attention,’ I observed admiringly.

Wally nodded proudly ‘Yes, I put a bit of work into it,’ pointing at the arms. ‘I’ve installed a windscreen wiper motor. Actually I put two of them in the dummy and added hinges to the arms.’

I stared at the animated figure.

‘I’ve also installed a loudspeaker and work everything from the console in my office. He pointed to his small office with all the space occupied with paperwork and with spare parts used as paperweights. And sure enough, there was a microphone and some buttons and knobs giving the appearance of a primitive radio station.

‘I have only one problem’ he said.

‘What’s that?’ I could not think of a drawback.

‘Come into my office right now’ His voice had become a whisper like a conspirator’s. Eagerly, I had followed him. He placed himself in front of his microphone, his hands hovering over the knobs and buttons. His expression became grim and determined.

He obviously had forgotten about me, judging from his intensive staring at a van with a family inside. Clearly tourists, they had stopped in front of the dummy, and stared at it, talking to each other excitedly. Then one man had left the van and slowly approached the figure, as if mesmerised.

‘Watch this bastard,’ Wally whispered. ‘They all do that!’

‘Do what?’ I whispered back, feeling like a conspirator, too, only not knowing the plot.

The man stood in front of ‘Nero’ as I had named the Roman mannequin, reached out and tried to shake hands with him. This must harm the mechanism, I thought.

Suddenly, the dummy jerked and boomed at the tourist ‘Let go of me bloody arm! What do you think you are doing?’

The shock was very visible, especially as there was nobody else in the driveway. The man almost jumped out of his skin. Trembling, he sprinted to his van, got into it and drove off with the acceleration of a racing car driver.

‘See that?’ Wally turned to me. ‘They all try to shake hands and it damages the motors inside it.’

‘That’s incredible,’ I could only stammer.

But Wally was made of sterner stuff because I heard him mumble: ‘I hope his drycleaner can keep a secret!’

I had to stay in Dunkston while my new muffler was being installed and I also took advantage of getting a full car service at the same time. Wally was an old-fashioned mechanic who took his work very personally, and whatever he did, he did properly. However, I had some visits to make in the town: to the hospital, the local government authority and flooring contractors, all in walking distance, so not much time was lost.

Upon leaving an architect’s place and walking towards a Government department where more architects were waiting for me, I had passed a large cinema and noticed a sizeable poster advertising a concert by Slim Dusty. It was a pleasant shock because Slim Dusty was one of my heroes of country music. In fact, it had always been my dream to attend one of his concerts and witness this legend perform. His concert was scheduled for the next day! I was reading the poster with excitement when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

‘Hello, Peter! You are back in town.’ It was Terry Stringer, an architect, whose small office I had intended to visit.

‘Hello, Terry.’ I was pleased to see him as he was completely natural with none of the snobbish air I sometimes encounter from city establishments.

‘Yes, I was coming to see you this afternoon, if that’s alright with you? I have some new samples for you and your catalogue needs updating.’

‘Splendid, Peter. Let’s say about 3 pm? That’s it then. I see you are a Slim Dusty fan? Are you going to his concert tomorrow? It will be a great event.’

‘Unfortunately, Terry, I can’t! You know how it is - there is always another town to call on.’

‘I know what you are like, Peter. You are too correct. That’s what’s wrong with you.’

‘W-what do you mean?’

‘Let’s say, if you had a car problem that needed fixing or if you were not feeling very well and had to take a day off - you are entitled to it, aren’t you? Then you would have your chance to see Slim Dusty and nobody would know!’

‘You make it sound so easy, Terry’

‘But it is easy. And don’t forget that after the concert, you can meet the master in the pub and have a yarn with him. You know what Slim is like!’

‘Yes, he is very folksy and,’ I was pulling myself together, ‘I have my car in for repairs and a service today. I tell you what, Terry, if the car is not ready by this evening I shall stay here for another day. But only then.’

‘Please yourself. So I shall see you at 3 o’clock then’. Terry nodded and left me in inner turmoil. I have always been a stickler for correctness. It didn’t not matter how far away from a boss I worked, I always did the correct thing, otherwise I just would not have been able to look at myself in the mirror in the morning. Therefore, I decided to leave it up to God. If my car was still being repaired the next day, then I would have had no other choice and I would see Slim.

Wally, the repairman, smiled when I called on him late afternoon. ‘It’s all ready, Peter. New muffler and full service! The tyres are alright and I have just test driven it.’

‘Thank you, Wally. I am relieved that I have a reliable vehicle again and do not need to feel stranded any more!’

But there was a touch of regret in my voice.

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

THE WRONG VIDEO……

‘On the road again . . . ‘ I was thinking of country singer Willie Nelson’s famous song as I hurtled along on the freeway to Darebin. I had a five hour trip ahead of me and not to have this long stretch take away from my valuable selling time, I had left Melbourne on a Sunday afternoon. I liked travelling on Sundays, in the afternoon, because the roads were clear and the service stations and roadside restaurants were unhurried and relaxed.

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 was 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  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 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 checked in with a croaky voice and running nose, shivering and obviously with a slight temperature. Once holed up in my room, I 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 ensconced in a warm bed, I started to glow like a stop sign. And, 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 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 my foot 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 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.

I was deep in thoughts, when I arrived at Darebin town. On my car phone, I had dialled John Russell’s private telephone number.

‘John Russell here’, a relaxed voice had answered. In the background I could hear children laughing, dogs barking, adults talking.

‘John, this is Peter Frederick here.’

‘Oh hello, Peter’, his voice sounded pleased. ‘Are you in town again?’

‘Yes, John, I have just arrived at my motel. I shall be in your shop tomorrow morning to discuss with you your current television advertising campaign.’

‘Great, Peter. Shall we say at 9 am?’

‘Yes, John, I am looking forward to seeing you again. And, oh, before I forget, could you video-tape your TV ad, please? You know, the one you have currently showing in this area! My boss wants to see it, regarding cooperative advertising.’

‘Of course, I shall tape it tonight for you and bring it tomorrow to the shop.’

‘Excellent! Have a nice evening, John, and I shall see you tomorrow.’

‘Yes, see you tomorrow, Peter!’

The next day, I was at ‘John’s Floor Coverings’ right on time, but there was no sign of John. Being used to waiting outside shops and offices, I had looked at a few windows and then admired his store sign. Whilst some establishments have high-falutin’ titles like ‘Galaxy Floors’, ‘International Floors’ or ‘Super Floors’, ‘John’s Floor Coverings’ sounded rather quaint and, since everybody knew him, there was no need to impress anyone with a bombastic name. At twenty minutes past nine, John arrived in his panel van and I made the mistake of looking at my watch.

‘Sorry, Peter, but I had to take the kids to school.’ ‘No problem, John. It’s good to see you again. How is business for you?’

‘I am really flat out at the moment.’ We entered his shop and he switched on the kettle.

‘I see you’ve got your priorities right, John. Coffee comes first!’

He grinned. ‘Have you spoken with your boss regarding subsidised advertising on our local TV? I do need help!’

‘Of course, John, and we won’t let you down, like I explained to you yesterday on the telephone. Did you bring your sample video recording of this spot with you?’

‘Damn, I forgot! I put it next to my bag and overlooked it this morning. It’s all that rush, you know!’

‘I’ve got to have it in order to help you, John. I promised my managing director to post it to him “express overnight”. He’s waiting for it.’ I was looking desperate and John had an idea.

‘After you have called on the architects and the hospital in Darebin, at about lunch time, come back to the shop. I’ll dash home in the morning and get that bloody tape!’

Having updated his samples and having talked ‘shop’ for about ten minutes, I took my leave. Exactly at noon, ‘high noon’ as I remembered from the famous film, I walked into his shop again. He was still breathless from a hectic morning.

‘I’ve just come from home and here is the tape. There is another program on it too - your boss will have to find the TV ad.’

‘Thanks, John, I shall go straight to the post office and mail it. Declan is waiting for it. You will hear directly from him regarding our payment towards your costs.’

Walking into Darebin’s post office was like going back in time. It still had linoleum-covered floors and counters. I wrote a little note for my managing director telling him that the commercial was on the tape, amongst other programs. Feeling relieved for having finalised everything in this matter from my side and with the ball now in the corner of my head office, I headed happily to the next town.

Driving home to Melbourne at the end of the week I was listening to calming, classical music and had loosened my tie as I still had four hours of driving ahead of me. Suddenly my car phone sounded a shrill interruption and it was Declan, my managing director, on the other end. ‘Where is the TV advertisement you were meant to pick up from John’s Floor Coverings?’

‘I sent it to you “express overnight”. Did you not receive it?’ I was very annoyed because I had made an extra effort to make sure that he received this important item as a top priority.

‘I received the video tape with your note alright and watched it wondering when the commercial was coming on.’ And now he raised his voice in frustration, ‘But you’ve sent me the wrong tape, there is nothing but two hours of ‘’Tom and Jerry” on this one!’

PETER FREDERICK

www.peterfrederick.org

www.life-on-the-road.com

CONFETTI......

Once, upon answering the telephone, I encountered a voice on the other end that had sounded very agitated. It belonged to Frank Cunningham who ran a very large architects’ office in the town of Mayfair, Tasmania.

‘I have received several complaints from my client, the Crown Reception Centre. Your vinyl flooring is no good. There are black spots appearing everywhere!’

‘I am sorry to hear that, Frank. What kind of spots are they actually? I do not understand what you mean by “spots”.’

‘Well, little round black spots. I want you to come here right away and sort things out!’

That was tricky! I was asked to fly to Tasmania immediately - just to have a look at ‘spots’! Of course, spots do not just develop on PVC floorings. It must have been something to do with the floor maintenance or other external influences. Never had I received a complaint like that and I had kept thinking about it .A hectic day went by and I was still mulling things over when I received another call from Frank.

‘Peter, I want you to come over as quickly as possible! More and more spots are appearing.’

‘You mean there are male and female spots?’

‘This is no time for levity, Peter. I’ve seen the spots myself They are round and black and they are increasing as time goes by!’

‘Frank, I’ll phone my boss for permission to fly to you right away. You’ll hear from me in a few minutes.’

‘Okay, Peter. But remember this is urgent. I have a client who is very unhappy and probably thinks I’ve specified the wrong flooring. Remember, I’ve seen the spots myself. I will get no more assignments from him and of course I cannot specify your products any more in future projects. So, I am waiting to hear from you shortly.’ ‘Click’ and the line went dead.

Yes, it was the old blackmail again, I had thought bitterly. The real reason for getting me to fly to Tassie was because it costs the architect nothing! Since my company paid the costs for this service, it was easier to request my coming than to try a bit harder and find out the cause of the complaint themselves.

Still, it was my policy to attend to complaints immediately, no matter what, because if problems were allowed to drag on, they became magnified and in a legal dispute the motto seemed to apply: ‘blame the manufacturer unless he can convince us otherwise’.

Having informed my boss, I had booked a ticket and the next morning I was on my way to Tassie. Arriving in Launceston, I rented a car, phoned the architect to meet me at the site, the reception centre, and had driven off.

Upon, arriving at the Crown Reception Centre, I had encountered a whole group waiting for me - my ‘welcoming committee’, was the thought that raced through my mind. There was the owner of the Reception Centre, his manager, the cleaner, the architect and somebody from the Health Department.

I had to laugh ‘inside’ just looking at them. They all had grim faces and looked like a mob ready to lynch a ‘mainlander’! Regional patriotism was ripe everywhere, and I had found it particularly strong in the island state. Nothing good can come from the mainland, seemed to be their thought. Their polite greeting was extra stiff, as if they were welcoming a mass murderer. But then again, I may have been exaggerating, as usual.

We all went through the decorative wrought iron main gate and headed for the largest building. It was a very pleasant looking reception centre, a white complex in Spanish-style imitation; the owner walked ahead, followed by his manager and then the remainder of us, in a kind of pecking order.

The owner had then aired his unhappiness with the floor using particularly descriptive words, for my benefit, of course! There were indeed lots of small black spots on the floor which nobody seemed to want to touch. And as they walked along, they all kept nodding gravely to each other and every now and then, shot damning glances at me, especially the cleaner and the Health Department official!

I was hanging back as I had wanted to have a close look at everything, take photos, check the whole installation and basically take everything in as not only would I have to write a report to my company but also I would have to come up with an answer!

Like I said, I was hanging back from the group and had noticed immediately that the so-called black spots were in fact confetti from a wedding party. They were lying loosely on the vinyl flooring. The cleaner obviously did not sweep the floor with a broom before mopping and when he did mop the floor, he did not pick up the slurry but merely swished everything about and let it dry. Of course, the confetti on the floor went darker with every mopping! Another reason for my trailing behind the group was that I was busily picking up some of the dark confetti. And the heap in my hand grew bigger all the time.

The others were waiting for me at the end of their ‘excursion’, back outside their building. They looked at me with dark expressions that said it all: ‘Now what do you have to say for yourself? Isn’t your floor terrible!’ I went to the architect, my main contact.

‘Frank, hold out your hand, please.’ He did so with a puzzled expression. ‘Here are your spots’ I poured enough to fill his hands while he screwed up his face.

‘That’s confetti!’ he exclaimed, totally bewildered. The remainder of the group just stared at his cupped hands which were overflowing with the ‘black spots’ and every now and then one slowly drifted to the floor.

I had swallowed deeply and taken control of myself - no good making enemies! I tried to make light of it. ‘Now that this is settled, could I invite everybody for a cup of coffee? I am a coffee addict myself and am having withdrawal symptoms right now. Where is the nearest café?’

The manager of the reception knew his cue: ‘Good idea, I will take care of this. Please come with me.’ He took us all back inside another building. A table was quickly covered with a fresh cloth and, with amazing speed, it was populated with coffee and plenty of hot scones, butter and jam.

We started to relax and talked about all sort of things except what we just had been through and soon we laughed together as if we were celebrating a reunion!

To be honest, I had always liked to go to Tasmania because the people there were genuinely friendly and their hospitality was always great. They seemed to look at you and see a person with feelings and not a title or position. In fact, I almost wished I had more complaints in the wonderful island state!

Peter Frederick

http://www.peterfrederick.org

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

A MISHAP AT AN AWARD NIGHT......

The day had finally arrived for the Apprentice of the Year convention in Sydney and after a lot of preparations, I started my faithful station wagon for the long drive.

Since my popular boss had great expectations of me, I made sure that the exhibition stand, I had created myself, was safely stored in the back of the car, in proper crush-proof containers, together with all the bits and pieces that link the modular panels together, the clip-on spotlights and my faithful, commercial-quality slide projector.  The slides had been checked carefully and I had this reassuring feeling that nothing could go wrong, if only my speech would go right.

Extension leads, I had been told, would be provided by our Sydney branch and the assurance was given that I need not worry about them.

There was also in my car an enormous plastic tube, with my seven foot fold-up screen resting inside. Well-cushioned with foam and closed at both ends with screw-lids that, too, had foam cushioning for extra protection. This PVC tubing was actually a gutter piping which I obtained from a builders’ supply store and, after much work, I managed to fit slightly larger tube ends, complete with thread and screw-on lids to firmly close them. All this necessitated a lot of sawing of thick plastic and gluing with an unbelievably penetrating plastic solvent. 

I had used my sales promotion equipment many times before and my only apprehension was my speech, which I had memorized word for word in my attempt to avoid bloopers.

There would be waiting for me in Sydney my friend Mel Addams, from a  technical college in Melbourne, who took it upon himself to record the whole event in every detail with his newly acquired video camera.

He kept telling me now for days about this project of his and I had this added assurance that the whole event would be preserved for eternity.

Driving into the vast Sydney Convention Centre, where all the company employees and our honoured guests from all over Australia were staying, I felt the yearning for a good stretch out and a long and relaxing shower. The trip had been approximately ten hours and whilst it is really uplifting to drive through picturesque little towns and impressive scenery, a motel is always welcome as a second home!

Turning into the driveway of the motel and convention centre, I pepped-up a bit noticing my friend Mel Addams standing next to the reception hall, his camera primed and filming my arrival.

‘Hello Peter!’ He shouted enthusiastically. ’You’ve made it. How was your trip?’

‘Great drive, Mel. But somehow, it was a bit too long!’ I returned his smile.  

‘Everybody else is in the bar,’ he pointed with his chin in the direction of a double door, whilst filming my car and the equipment inside.  

‘That’s great Mel. I just want to unload my things and then change clothes and relax. By the way, where is the lecture room?’

Mel, good mate that he is, helped me carry my equipment to a large hall, where a sufficient number of folding chairs had been leant against a wall.

‘Thank you for your help, Mel, I think that’s it. Just one more thing…..where is the power point?’ I was looking around with rising alarm. My sixth sense told me that something was not right.

‘It must be here, surely.’ Mel started to march along the wall, staring attentively at the space above the skirting boards.

‘Nothing, Peter!’ he simply stated, with his usual calm.

There were, however, alarm bells ringing in my head. Whenever I give a lecture, or a demonstration of some sort, there is always a chance of making a fool of myself due to what I term ‘human error’! Totally unforeseen things can happen and leave me red-faced, stammering and with sweat pearling on my forehead. Therefore, it is very important to forestall all this in the first place.

Where was the company’s state manager for NSW? After all, he was the host and had promised me on the phone that he would see to it that nothing went wrong.

‘’Leave everything to me!’ I could still hear his reassuring words.

Luckily, a sales representative from New South Wales, Tom Minter, tried to slink past the door and I managed to stop him and explain my matter with urgency in my voice.

A short time later, Tony Selby, the state manager himself appeared, trying to look as distinguished as our managing director but failing in the voice department.

‘Ah, Peter! Glad you could make it.’ Assuming immediate command of the situation, he added: ‘Well, this is the room! I see that you have already assembled your display stand, your projector and put up your screen – great-looking equipment you have! Did you want anything from me?’

I explained to him my concern.

‘Oh the power point?’ His voice sounded like dealing with a small detail. ‘It is in another room, at the end of this corridor……..’ In his mind the problem was as good as fixed, why, I would only need to plug in there – it’s that simple,’ I could read his thoughts.

‘Tony, I always carry an extension cord with me, but it is not that long! The distance would be over twenty metres.’

‘No worries, Peter, I’ll get my son to bring you an extra long extension cord from home. I’ll give him a phone call now.’ And with a casual gesture he had copied from Declan, he fished out of his pocket his trusted mobile telephone. Apparently, there was an extremely long extension lead at home and, for him, like I said, the problem was as good as solved.

My friend Mel would not leave my side, filming everything for his epic movie. The way I looked for a power point, the way Tony phoned home for the extension lead, the smallest detail was going to be preserved!

‘I want to record everything, Peter, and edit later for a long documentary!’ His enthusiasm was infectious, however, there will be a lot of editing of the video recordings, I thought.

Whilst waiting for the extra long extension lead to be brought, I ambled into the big function room where the actual presentation of the award will be held and had to stop and gasp at the entrance. The sheer number of visitors was astonishing and what’s more, all the important people, captains of the flooring industry, were there. I also noted some well-respected politicians and even the Minister for Youth and Training with his own entourage of followers. Plus, news reporters and press observers from the mainstream press. They all mingled happily, mostly with a glass of drink in one hand, the other one being used for gesticulating, I observed. Obviously, the whole gathering has been going on for quite a while. The room itself, with its chandeliers and gilded plaster pillars, red carpet and the long bar at the back, all brightly lit and showing off their gleaming rows of bottles and dispensers, helped the atmosphere along. Also, the happy looking and eager staff kept floating through this crowd of people with both hands full with trays of delicious finger food which made everybody feel well cared for and at home. The whole hall had an ambience of cosy comfort and well-being.

Mel was standing beside me and, yes again, he was recording this situation. ‘I’ve got everything on tape,’ he kept assuring me with enthusiasm, obviously proud of his camera and feeling kinship with the other members of the press.

‘I am gonna show this film in the technical colleges around Australia as motivation for all our apprentices’, he assured me.

‘Good idea, Mel’, Have you thought of a title for this film?

‘Oh, I shall think of one. A catchy, inspiring opening…..yes, I can see it already…. a great opening would be very important.’

I had to extricate myself from his daydreaming as somebody tugged me on my sleeve. It was a young lad with dishevelled dark hair and pimply face, obviously Tony’s son.

‘The extension lead has arrived. We have already plugged it in down the corridor in the photocopy room.’ Great news, I thought gratefully.

It has always been my method to connect everything and switch it on for a try-out! Only when I had found that everything worked perfectly, would I switch everything off and await, with peace of mind, the time when I had to give my product presentation.

Sipping my cup of strong coffee in a little cafeteria to fortify myself, I heard a distant bell ringing and Tony, the state manager and host, appeared and motioned me that it was now my turn to perform.

Entering the lecture room, I was amazed at the number of people waiting and they all seemed so eager to hear my report on the latest in flooring technology. It is always with some apprehension that I start to speak but once the second and third slide went up on the screen I was alright because the picture actually tells me what to say. I simply pour out my knowledge relevant to the shown slide, however, I’ve learned that every now and then a little humour loosens things up a bit and prevents my presentation become tedious.

The grateful applause at the end of this report rewarded me for my forty-five minutes of sweating it out! When that sweet noise finally subsided, Declan was suddenly at my side, whispering:

‘Well done, Peter!‘ I don’t know how you do it! When I speak for ten minutes I run out of things to say.’ I was grateful for his approval which I considered my real award.

All this was filmed by an eager Mel.

After saying a few words of thanks, Declan invited our guests to the awarding of the apprentices which was being held in the largest room, on a stage.

As this was the end of my contribution to this event, I started to pack-up my equipment and with the help of my colleague, Ken Butterworth, and Tony,  the state manager, everything was carried to my station wagon and stored carefully and securely.

Walking into the great function room, I noticed an atmosphere of excitement. Like I mentioned before, It was filled with important people from our industry, retailers, architects, government departments, politicians, teachers from the technical colleges and, of course, fellow representatives like myself. And everybody was mingling, talking, eating and -  you guessed it - drinking.

And through the masses pushed Mel his faithful camera, filming everything. Despite his enthusiasm Mel began to irritate me the way he would poke his camera into all my activities.

In an adjoining room were the floor laying apprentices. They had been tested with small, practical flooring installations and product-knowledge via written tests. And now, everybody was waiting for the announcement of the Apprentice of the Year!

Sweating profusely and breathing heavily, they sat, drinking their Coca Cola. Now the door opened and, yes, Mel entered the room filming them as they munched their sandwiches and downed their drinks.

In the convention hall, Declan, again, opened the event with cheerful words, praising the event, his company (and thereby indirectly himself) and emphasised the importance of this event for the whole flooring industry and for the participating apprentices.

The Minister for Industry and Commerce was introduced and he, too, stressed the training of apprentices as a noble task more companies should participate in and so on.

He was filmed at close angle by the eager Mel and would be a major part in his feature film. Nodding towards me between his filming, he obviously saw himself as a movie director  at the start of his illustrious career.

Declan, as our managing director and MC, with his beautiful baritone voice and classic theatrical accent, read the names of the apprentices off a list he held elegantly in his hand.

Mel did a close-up of this and had to be waved back by Declan. The first name was called for an Encouragement Award and it was very quiet in the room. All eyes were fixed to the left side of the stage where the first apprentice was expected to appear. Necks were strained, breaths were bated, and Mel tried his best to steady his camera in his exited hands.

And then, something unbelievable happened. Out of seemingly nowhere a sound was heard: ‘Peter, I’ve run out of film!’

The sound rolled through the hall, an outcry of incredulity and helplessness! All eyes were fixed on Mel who was staring at me with wide open eyes, his jaw dropped and his hands, still holding the camera, were hanging down in helplessness.

With his film career in tatters, Mel slunk defeated from the stage, whilst the events took their turn to their successful conclusion.  

On my long trip back to Melbourne I had time to reflect on a past hectic year and wondered what will be in store for me in the coming year. Of one thing I could be sure, there will still be a road to travel!

Peter Frederick

http://www.peterfrederick.org

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