More Tales Of Paradise....

Watching a television programme late yesterday afternoon, tears filled my eyes. Over the years I’ve lived in some beautiful areas, not the least being Hinchinbrook Island and its surrounds. Yes, you guessed it! The programme was about Hinchinbrook Island and Silkwood, a small town north of the island.

Friends of mine lived in Silkwood, a sugar cane area, for a short time while their new home was being built on acreage at nearby Japoonvale. Mena Creek, with its wondrously, magical Spanish castle is just “up the road” a bit. I’ve written about Mena Creek previously in this blog.

Ted, my maintenance man-come-python-remover-drot-in-the-ocean-drencher, originated from Silkwood, often spending his time off spear-fishing in the waters off Murdering Point and Kurrimine Beach (other friends of mine owned and managed the Kurrimine Beach Motel…I had a wild week there one night helping them demolish their wine cellar, but that’s another story!), which is east of the highway, opposite Silkwood. My staff and I would love it when Ted took time off, because invariably he’d arrive back to the island with a large esky or two full of Painted Crays upon which we would dine in style in the staff room, away from the prying eyes of the island guests. “Painted Crays are magnificently armed and brilliantly coloured. They are vegetarians and it is only possible to net or spear them.

As an aside…the male half of the couple who owned the Kurrimine Motel was Ian who had been best man alongside me as attendant at Margaret and Denis’ wedding that I described to you not long ago in a chapter of my “Reaching Out To The City Lights”. Again just proving life does, indeed, go around in circles!

Back to the painted crayfish…after one of his trips to Silkwood and Kurrimine Beach, Ted arrived back to the island armed with an esky full of crays just in time for one of my staff members’ birthday. Daina (correct spelling…pronounced “Day-na”) turned eighteen the day of Ted’s return. I’d arranged a party for her to be held at my little abode on the island. In my not-so-infinite-wisdom I had declared it to be a “Toga Party”! David, my head chef, unburdened Ted of his load and proceeded to prepare the crays for the staff and my consumption. Eagerly, we gathered around the large staff table, drooling as we waited the festive feast. Our poor guests didn’t partake in our tasty fare and we didn’t tell them what they were missing out on, either!

As soon as our dinner was completed and we were replete, my staff, those who were not on kitchen and table duties, rushed off to the laundry to clothe themselves in togas made from the older stocks of bed sheets. In the meantime, I visited my dinner guests, joining and chatting with them at their tables. One by one, my “kids” wandered nonchalantly through the restaurant area donned in their “togas” en route to my house, much to the guests' delight. There was quite an “ado” as each made a detour to the bar before progressing out of the restaurant to the track leading across to where the party was to occur.

To my surprise and then laughter, the last two members of my staff to parade through the restaurant were Ted, followed soon after by my brother, Graham. At the appearance of Graham, I heard one of the guests utter, “There goes another one!”

Seeing my brother dressed that way, for one thing was surprise enough for me, but to see him strut through the restaurant with a wide grin on his face really “knocked me for a sixer”! Such a display was not his normal style. If you’d known my brother, you would understand completely!

Eventually, we all gathered together out on the deck at my house. I was the only “civilian” present, opting out of wearing a toga. Generously, the island guests didn’t linger long in the restaurant and soon my bar, restaurant and kitchen staff joined the party. David, my chef, and the others who'd been on shift arrived armed with platters of tasty tid-bits. By that time, the party was well under way. David, being the class clown he always was, arrived suitably attired with the addition of two lemons attached to the ends of a piece of string that was tied around his waist. The lemons dangled suggestively in front of a certain part of his anatomy. This turned out to be a regular party trick of his. Somewhere during the course of events, he’d grab a meat mallet or cleaver to ceremoniously smash “his lemons” to smithereens, much to the delighted amusement of his devoted fans and bystanders!

What a fun party, it was, one enjoyed by us all. I think Daina will always remember her eighteenth birthday spent on Hinchinbrook Island. Where else could she have had such a feast of fresh painted cray for no cost, followed by a toga party to end all toga parties, with the sounds and view of the ocean on either side of the venue?