Short Stories 1

ALAN - The man behind the pen - 16-11-99

My physical frame is not very much to look at. Just under 5’8”, I am considered just a little short by Australian standards. My weight, which has increased from 68kg to 70kg of late, is also rather light, as most of my friends tend to be overweight. Although my facial appearance would be classed as average, my genetic makeup has kept me relatively slim over the years, and has enabled me to excel at most sports in which I have participated. Football and Judo are the 2 sporting activities that give me the fondest memories, and I have been fortunate indeed, that I was able to persue the former on a semi-professional basis for 14 years in England, the country of my birth.

A person’s physique is only the ‘house’ in which his consciousness lives. The house should be looked after. It has certain basic requirements. We must keep it clean, eat good food, take some exercise, and try to avoid the multitude of poisons that our society suggests we are not complete or natural beings, if we do not ingest or inhale them.

My former football coach, for whom I have always had the greatest respect, often reminded the team that the human body is the finest piece of equipment in the universe. His advice to that bunch of talented young men, who all too often indulged in abusing the legal substances available, was very simple. Look after it.

Not only do I love to laugh, but, I love to make others around me laugh too. My character is a little extrovert and serves me well in this respect. Whenever I meet somebody with a ‘long face’, it becomes an immediate challenge to get them to show their teeth. If they are not responsive to my best efforts, that’s their problem. Language or culture is no barrier. Here in China, it’s just as easy to induce a smile, as it is anywhere else in the world. Body language is universal.

I have been told that my sense of humour is dry and extremely warped, but that’s the Alan within. Old ‘Laurel and Hardy’ films have me in stitches. The crazy antics of Bud Abbott and Lou Costello, and many of the old ‘Silent Movies’, have made me laugh till my stomach ached. Politicians make me ‘roll up’ as I look through the thin cosmetic exterior, and examine the credibility of the constant flow of pledges and promises.

Sometimes I laugh at other people’s expense, but it is never malicious. My dogs have given some very memorable moments of humour over the years. We have walked together, swam together, played together, and yes, laughed together. Almost every occasion or incident has a humorous side, so I love to find it and smile at it.

I always like to be around positive people, or at least try to extract that element from anyone who is looking at life through dark glasses. Happiness and laughter are infectious, but so is depression, and the latter must be changed very quickly, or avoided.

It is my pleasure to help others if I can. I enjoy raising money for Charitable purposes, particularly for children. The ‘front line’ might be a little too upsetting for me, but I am very happy to play a support role as fundraiser.

Lecturing English at Jinan University has been very rewarding. Not in the financial sense because the salaries here are miserable. But in helping these very bright young people, in some small way, towards their own individual goals and ambitions, is worth far more than any financial gain. They stimulate me and challenge my own limited intellect.

The football coaching stimulates me too. I try to pass on the skills that took me years to learn to the keen young men of the University team.

I love the sea. Sailing has been an unforgettable experience. Dolphins, sharks, and the occasional whale look quite beautiful as they survey their aquatic kingdom. The only problem has been my susceptibility to sea sickness. Not the best of ailments for a ‘would be’ sailor. I like to watch the sea. The surfers riding the waves, kids swimming in the surf between the flags on Dee Why beach. The huge waves pounding the rocks as nature unleashes one of her terrible tantrums. Or the ‘Heads’ of Sydney Harbour, as seen from the ferry as it cruises effortlessly towards the city, are all such beautiful sights.

Simple things are enjoyable. Walking along the beach or through bush or tropical rainforest. Admiring the beautiful green and gold colours of the Australian bush at sunrise or sunset. Simple food too. In Sydney, I always make my own bread and yogurt. In Guangzhou, however, although I make a delicious yogurt, I cannot get the required yeast for the bread, so I have to settle for the greatly inferior product I buy at the supermarket.

Writing has never been my living, but always my hobby. Sometimes it is hard for me to express my thoughts, feelings or experiences verbally. But when the brain is engaged and the fingers move into gear, the words seem to flow effortlessly down to the keyboard, dance furiously around the motherboard with the Intel processor, before strolling elegantly onto the hard disk. Some of my works are personal, some are intended to give pleasure to others. But whether it is poem or story, funny or sad, it gives me such pleasure to write.

Life is so full of beautiful things. Forget the disappointments, the upsets and traumas, for if we dwell on those sad times, we cannot appreciate just how lucky we are to enjoy this brief moment in time that we call ‘life’.

Above all else, I love to love.

Poetalan

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BIG GAME - 08-12-98

In UK, normally only the professional grounds have lights. When I was 18, I was just starting to look good at soccer and was playing at youth grade for my local team with my friends.

We were drawn to play against the local professional youth side and they expected to beat us easily.

We were all overwhelmed with the facilities. A very large communal bath, nice changing rooms, beautiful pitch which was lit up like daylight. We put on our boots and went out to face the music.

After 10 minutes of being under pressure, we broke away and I scored. 15 minutes later, I scored again and my friend Jimmy scored another just before half time. 3-0.

They came at us like wounded bills in the second half. We were all defending as though our lives depended on it, but after 20 minutes they scored. 3-1. 10 minutes from the end, they scored again. 3-2.

The next 8 minutes, we were under enormous pressure as they looked for the goal which would take the game to extra time. We were tiring fast.

THEN, my friend just kicked the ball out of defence and I controlled it. There were 2 of their players in front of me and their goalkeeper. Both players tried to tackle me but I left them behind and with the goalkeeper advancing towards me, my shot was struck into the corner of the net. 4-2. Everybody in my team jumped on top of me and it felt wonderful.

The whistle went shortly after that. We had won.

The other club were impressed with my efforts and started watching me every week. A few months later they invited me to join them on a part time basis.

Poetalan

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BIG JOE

When the Clarke family arrived at their new home in Brooker Avenue, Beacon Hill, they quickly established friendly ties with their neighbours. Ken and Erica Batiste lived at number 9, and Steve and Noelene Lang lived at number 13. The Batiste's had 2 daughters about the same age as our own daughters, and they had an old cat called Zak. The Langs, on the other hand, had 3 children, a cat, and an Alsation bitch called Kalor.

Kalor did not seem to like men. Apart from Steve, who was unmistakably the master of the house, she disliked all men. She growled at me if ever I got too close to her, and would surely have bitten me had I not heeded the warning, in those early days.

Shortly after we moved in, we spent $100 on a 1 year old Beagle. and named her Floppy. When Kalor saw me playing with Floppy day after day, she obviously figured out that I wasn't all bad, and she became very good friends with both me and Floppy.

Many a day, she would jump the wooden fence that separated the 2 properties, climb up onto the old table we had out the back yard under the verandah, and go to sleep. Floppy would sleep under the table to keep her company. Indeed, it was this very habit which led to Kalor's demise.

One day, Kalor was waiting patiently for her morning walk. Her lead was attached to her collar, but the kids were in such a hurry preparing for school, that Kalor was all but forgotten. Fed up with waiting, Kalor decided to jump over the fence and see Floppy. The leap over was successful, but whilst jumping back to check if anyone would take her for her morning walk, the lead snagged on the fence and she was hanged.

Six months before her death, Kalor had a litter. Nobody was sure who the father was, but Rufus had been seen hanging around at the critical time, and the offspring looked conspicuously dark in colour. The Langs gave away most of the pups, but for some reason, perhaps a premonition, they kept Joe. He followed his mummy everywhere. Stuck to her like mud to a blanket.

The kids and Noelene were devastated by Kalor's death. Steve immediately came home from work, dug a large hole in the back yard, and buried poor old Kalor. Next morning, there was further trauma for the Langs. Kalor was back again. Joe had spent all night digging her up. Steve dug the hole deeper this time, and Kalor was laid to rest in peace.

Joe seemed totally lost at first without Kalor, but as his physique developed, his confidence grew, and he took his place in the Brooker Avenue animal hierarchy. Rufus had always been the top dog, and stood about 6 inches taller than the full grown Joe. It is doubtful if they ever realized they were father and son. Rufus lived just across the street, and patrolled the area just outside his own house, but he never looked aggressive till he was actually locked up on the property. He seemed to swing into 'guard' mode, once the gates were closed, and bark menacingly at anyone and everyone as they walked past. Joe patrolled the area in front of his own house, and perhaps by some agreement with Floppy, the front of my house too. It seemed that as far as the dogs were concerned, the 2 houses were all part of the same property. Floppy would walk over to see the Langs whenever she felt like it, and Joe would jump over the fence to play with Floppy or just keep her company. Floppy was de-sexed, so the relation ship was only ever on a 'just good friends' basis.

Whenever I took Floppy to the park, Joe would tag along. Perhaps not the tallest dog in the park, but never afraid of anything else on 4 legs. He often got into minor scrapes with other dogs, and would quickly assert his authority. I never saw him lose a fight.

Joe was sometimes an embarrassment to the Langs. They had quite a large extended family, and often had gatherings to celebrate birthdays and holiday times such as Christmas. Joe didn't like the fuss and disruption that these occasions caused to his everyday life. Sometimes he would take a dislike to one of the guests as they arrived, and growl out his disapproval. Steve or Noelene would quickly scold Joe and banish him to his private domain under the house. Unfortunately, the matter seldom ended there. It seemed that in Joe's mind, the 'intruder' was responsible for his 'bollocking'. Joe would wait patiently for his chance, and if it came before the unwanted guest went home, he would give the man (never a woman) a bite to chastise him for the trouble he had caused and let the guy know he was not welcome. Even though the bite was far less severe than Joe could inflict if he really wanted to, it was still painful to the recipient.

A friend of ours had a 'bush block' about 2 hours drive on the freeway from Sydney. On one of the occasions we stayed there, by agreement with the Langs, we took Big Joe, as he had come to be known by our family. Actually, Steve spoke to me just before we left, and said that he wouldn't be disappointed if Joe didn't come back. We set off in the Kombi for Cessnock on Friday afternoon with 4 kids and 2 dogs. Joe was firmly secured by a very short leash to a lower seat bolt. His journey may not have been comfortable, but he was quiet and no trouble for the whole journey. Floppy, as usual, was her quiet self.

The block was very basic. Just trees, grass, and very little else. Joe loved it. He and Floppy would go off for a walk together and come back an hour later, have a little rest and then wander off again. There was a creek on the property, and in several places it formed a natural swimming pool. We frequented these pools during the day, and Joe took a dip without prompting. Whilst I was swimming with the kids, Floppy would lay down in the shallows to cool off, but not go for a swim.

We had been warned by the owners of the land about a very dangerous 50' waterfall, and whilst out exploring the land with the 2 dogs, we came across it on the topside. It looked very dangerous indeed. The water was only trickling over in several different places due to low recent rainfall, but the real danger was the green moss that was growing on the rocks. As I examined the fall from at least 10 meters away, I ordered the dogs to stay with me in my deepest, most authoritative voice. Floppy obeyed immediately, but Joe ignored me and walked towards the edge. A second and even sterner warning was given. Joe looked round at me this time before approaching the edge. That's not MY master, thought Joe. Who is HE to give me orders and tell me what I can do and what I can't do. Why should I listen to HIM? Then just as Joe sniffed his way along the precipice, my worst fears were realized. Joe's feet slipped away from under him on the wet moss. He bounced off the rocks and disappeared over the edge. I was sure that he was dead. Joe let out a yell as he hit the rocks at the bottom of the fall. The yell was somewhere between a scream and a howl. Then there was deathly silence. I began to take a long safe path towards the bottom of the fall to retrieve the remains of poor old Joe. As I slowly made my descent, I wondered how I would explain the incident to Steve and Noelene, and thought about Steve's words to me before we left Beacon Hill. Was he really serious about Joe not coming back? After about 3-4 minutes, I was about halfway down the track which would have taken me to the bottom of the fall, when who should I see limping towards me, bruised and shaken, lots of blood in several places, but nothing broken, only Big Joe.

Amazingly, the next day, he was almost fully recovered. After 3 days in the 'bush', it was time to leave. We planned to visit some friends on the way home in a beautiful little village called Wollombi. The road between Cessnock and Wollombi runs alongside a small river which carves its way through the hills. It is God's country and the beauty is quite stunning. The VW Kombi diesel had always been such a very reliable machine, but a slight defect in the plastic water header tank, led to water loss and the engine overheated and blew a head gasket just before we got to Wollombi. My friend Keith came out and towed us to his home. From there we phoned the breakdown service and they came from Cessnock to Wollombi in a truck to take my beloved Kombi away for repair. We arranged to stay with Keith and Margaret overnight, and Keith would take us back to Sydney the next day. I would then return to Cessnock to pick up the Kombi when the repairs were completed.

Keith had a dog called Roger, about the same size as Joe. Roger was fiercely territorial, and showed his disapproval in no uncertain terms when Joe arrived. Floppy was welcomed. Keith and I decided to let the dogs 'find their own level'. Roger made the first move and attacked Joe. The initial thrust almost bowled Joe over, but he recovered very quickly and gave Roger a good hiding in his own back yard, and in front of his family. The deeply embarrassed Roger, retreated to the house to make his last stand. Joe was content to control the back yard. Everything had been settled.

When we finally arrived back in Sydney, we told the tale of Joe's 'mishap' at the waterfall to the Lang's, and we all saw the funny side of it. At almost every gathering since, Noelene has asked me to relate the tale and make her guests laugh.

When Lulu arrived in Brooker Avenue as my birthday present, she changed the lives of humans and animals alike. Lulu was a beautiful, 10 month old, black, Staffordshire Bull Terrier. She immediately made herself quite at home. Up till that point in time, There had just been Floppy, and the family cat named Abbie. Floppy had always asserted her authority over Abbie, especially at meal times. When Lulu arrived, however, the pecking order developed into a 3 way system of organized chaos. Lulu dominated Floppy. Abbie was somehow able to convince Lulu that she was the toughest of the 2, and hissed and spat Lulu into submission when she didn't get her own way. But then, Floppy still retained her dominance over Abbie. If I were forced to say who was really the dominant animal, I would have to say Lulu.

Big Joe began jumping the fence far more frequently after Lulu arrived. Actually, it was part fence and part wall. The wooden fence separated the 2 houses, and the brick wall was much higher, and separated the 2 back yards. Neither fence nor wall could prevent Joe from visiting Lulu. Even when the fenced area was 'blocked off', Joe easily jumped to the top of the wall, jumped onto the roof of our colourbond shed, and from there would jump down to our pool area.

Far from encouraging Joe, Lulu would growl and snarl at him for daring to invade her territory. She was only half his size, so she rarely attacked him head on, but waited patiently for him to prepare to jump back onto the roof of the shed. Then she would attack his rear quarters as he jumped, and often end up with a mouthful of hair from Joe's tail.

This love-hate relationship went on and on, then when Lulu was about 16 months old, she had her first real 'heat'. For the next 2 weeks, Joe had only one thing on his mind - Lulu. Several other suitors were 'politely asked to leave' by Joe. They all went away in considerably worse physical condition than that in which they came. Even Rufus came sniffing round and was chased away by Joe. We had to keep Lulu indoors all the time, and be with her constantly when she went out to the toilet. For the whole of that 2 week period, Joe would sing his songs of love to Lulu. HOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLULU.

He sang during the day, but worst of all, he sang all night long. Nobody could sleep. He would jump the wall, sit by the back door, and howl all through the night. The door was directly under our bedroom window, and even when we closed the windows, the door to the ensuite bathroom and closet, we could still hear Joe's melodious call to his beloved Lulu. Joe's singing abated when Lulu's heat finished, and thankfully, things returned to normal.

Some time later, Joe paid one of his frequent visits to our back yard, and Lulu went into her usual guard mode. When Joe had finished sniffing around, and marking out 'his territory' by urinating in several different locations, it was time to go home.

The manoeuvre was tricky at the best of times, but when Lulu was there just waiting for her chance to bite Joe's tail as he jumped up to the roof of the shed, it was a kind of double jeopardy.

As Joe leapt upwards, Lulu caught his tail and held on. Joe's front paws were on the shed roof, but he couldn't pull himself up as he usually did, because of the extra 18 kg hanging onto his tail..

Finally, his paws lost their grip on the shed roof, and he fell backwards. Joe's poor head hit the low wall beside the shed. Joe lost his senses temporarily, and Lulu took her chance to give Joe a really 'Good Hiding'. The dog who had dominated all other dogs in the area, was soundly beaten by a spoilt little bitch called Lulu. When Joe recovered his senses, he cut his losses, and high tailed it out of No 11 as though his very life depended upon it. This time, he decided against the shed and wall exit, and ran to the back gate. As he ran, Lulu was after him, biting his tail and snarling in 'doggie language' 'Get out and don't come back'. Joe cleared the back gate at the first attempt, and went home to 'lick his wounds'.

The next heat came, and Joe was up to the same antics again. This time I asked Steve to make his fence and wall secure, so that Joe couldn't get over. The job was delegated to his no 2 son, Stuart. Stu was big, strong, and very capable, but no match for Big Joe.

When he had finished the job, he came over to No 11 to proudly tell my wife Hilary and myself not to worry about Joe any more. There was no possible way that Joe could get past all the barriers that he had constructed. We could rest assured that Lulu would not be visited by Joe again.

Stu stood with his back to the wall and shed as he continued to explain just how much time and material he had put into improving the structure of the wall, and once again he reiterated, 'No possible way for Joe to get over now'. As he spoke those fateful words, Big Joe appeared on top of the shed. Hilary said 'Stuart', and pointed to the shed behind him.

How could I ever forget the look on Stuart Lang's face as he turned towards the shed, saw Big Joe, and then turned back to show his astonished look to us. The 3 of us laughed till we cried.

3 or 4 of Lulu's heats later, all of which had varying degrees of insomnia because of Joe's howling, Steve and Noelene decided to take Joe to the vet. Joe recovered quickly because he was always very fit.

When I saw Steve and Noelene shortly thereafter, I asked them if Joe had lost any weight. They replied 'No', and asked why.

I replied to them 'Oh! I think he's lost 2 stone'. We all laughed.

Since that day, Joe never jumped the wall again.

Poetalan

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BLUE MOUNTAIN HIKE

Early one Saturday morning in April, my friend John and I set off in my blue kombi for the Blue Mountains which are about 3 hours drive west of Sydney. John was an ex-army officer and knew the Australian bush very well. We took a small tent, lots of food, sleeping bags and headed west. I also took a very large knife which was sheathed and strapped to my belt. Maybe I looked a little like Paul Hogan in Crocodile Dundee? John was not Linda Kowalski, unfortunately.

Katoomba is 1,000 meters above sea level, and offers some spectacular views. It is essential for visitors to Sydney to visit the area and to wonder at the beautiful views from Echo Point.

After registering with the local police for safety reasons and parking the kombi, we set off on our hike to Mount Solitary which can be seen across the valley from Echo Point.

We walked along the plateau to local landmark called The Three Sisters. From there we took the iron stairway, which went on and on till eventually we reached the valley floor below. The views on the way down were spectacular.

A three hour walk along the valley floor through the beautiful rainforest, being careful not to tread on any snakes that crossed the track occasionally, brought us to the foot of Mt Solitary. The climb ahead was going to be tough, so we parked our behinds on a convenient rock and ate our lunch of sandwiches and fruit juice.

Feeling refreshed and rejuvenated, we started the long climb towards the top. Mt Solitary has a double summit and the plan was to make camp on the ridge between the two peaks. Although there was a track of sorts, we went the wrong way on more than one occasion, and had to backtrack to take an alternative route. At times we just had to help each other up through the rocks to the next level. The climb took about two hours and a tired John and Alan reached the summit by late afternoon.

We found a suitable camping spot close to a very small trickle of a stream in between the two peaks. The tent was pitched, a small fire was built and lit, and the billy was suspended over the fire by a tripod made from sticks. When the billy boiled, John made the tea with army rations, which included condensed milk with sugar in a tube. That was the best tea that I have ever tasted.

Dinner was army rations. We had tins of beef, tins of rice, tins of beans, tins of fruit and all were just heated by the open fire. It was delicious. Another cup of tea was brewed, and we watched the sun setting in the distance from our mountain camp. It was a truly wonderful sight. Surely it was a gift from God. How could anything look so beautiful?

After dark, The temperature dropped rapidly, so the fire was built up and an entertaining evening was spent by the fireside discussing topics from religion to politics to women and even electronics.

Sleep was most welcome after such a long walk and climb, and the sleeping bags and tent kept out the cold mountain chill.

At daybreak the fire was relit and a hot breakfast (c rations of course) was gobbled up by two hungry campers. Tea was served in the tin mugs (army issue), before all the gear was packed away. The fire was extinguished, and once more we set off.

The descent was easier than the ascent, but the walk back along the valley floor to the Three Sisters seemed much longer this time. In fact we cheated a little.

About 2 klm before we reached the Three Sisters, there is a very steep railway which was built before WW2 to service a mine on the valley floor. The mine is now closed, but the extremely steep rail is now a prime tourist attraction. For $1 each, we saved ourselves from walking up the several hundred iron steps at the Three Sisters by riding on the train.

We walked from the top of the plateau, about 2 klm back to the kombi. The police were informed that we had returned safely and we set off for home on the Sunday afternoon.

That night I slept particularly well in my nice soft bed.

Poetalan

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EXPERIENCE INGUANGDONG 9-9-1999 (Published in Guangzhou)

On a recent trip to the countryside with my girl friend, we had to take a bus ride from Hui Zhou to Lu Feng. Before we paid for the tickets, we asked for an assurance that we would be taken all the way to the destination on the same bus, and not be sold on to another bus operator and have to pay more money. This assurance was given by the driver, and a short while later we set off with a full busload of passengers.

It was early march and quite cold outside the bus, so the windows were closed and the bus heater was on. This was fine until people started smoking, despite the clear ‘NO SMOKING’ signs, and neither the driver or his assistant were prepared to tell people to stop smoking. Much to my annoyance, they also started smoking.

Presumably because of the stuffy, smokey atmosphere, the woman passenger immediately in front of me got travel sick, opened her window fully and put her head out of the window to be sick. I had no wish to suffer the same fate, so I opened my window fully. Other people opened their windows to varying degree’s, and the atmosphere became breathable once again, although somewhat cooler now, much to the annoyance of some of the smokers.

After travelling about half the distance, we were very surprised to see the bus pull in behind another bus. Despite the assurances given, we were asked by the driver to transfer to the other bus. All the passengers agreed provided we did not have to pay again. This assurance was readily given by the driver, so we all boarded the other bus. The first bus turned around and headed off in the direction from which we came.

Almost as soon as we set off on the other bus, the bus driver’s assistant asked us all for more money. Not only had they received money from the first bus for taking us the rest of the way, but he wanted more.

Needless to say, it was futile trying to explain to the new bus crew that we had been given specific assurances from the other bus driver that we would not be sold on and charged more money. The new crew explained angrily that any agreement between the other driver and the passengers was nothing to do with him and we should discuss that with the other driver when next we met.

Most people realized that they had little choice but to pay this unofficial, and probably quite illegal, ‘second fare’. Indeed it was explained to me that this behavior was quite common in rural China, and people have now reluctantly accepted the practice.

Two male passengers from the north of China however, did not agree with the bus crew, and refused to pay any further fare. The bus was stopped, and the driver came down to the back of the bus to loudly explain to the men that they had no choice. It was pay up or get off.

The two men were furious and together with the bus crew, were exchanging insults at the top of their voices. It looked as if violence was about to erupt at any moment.

The raised voices finally faded away after about ten minutes when my girlfriend offered to pay the money for the two men.

It seems very sad, and perhaps a touch ironic, that the argument quickly developed from the morality and legality of ‘selling passengers’ and charging twice for the same journey, into which of the men knew the ‘highest and most powerful’ official. They all seemed to be in agreement on this one point. Might is Right.

Perhaps the decision and policy makers should take time to dress up as common people and experience for themselves the shortcomings of the public transport system which the rest of us are forced to use.

Maybe then, they would put into place ‘effective’ complaint procedures to ensure that these nasty practices are quickly terminated, and a rapid improvement of the transport system as a whole.

Poetalan

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